New Game
by The Unforgiving Mountain Jew
Summary: New rules but the same old game. Allen dies and finds himself living out his favorite daydream. Deciding to live it out, he's going to bring modern technology and ethics to this backwater world before becoming the king of it. After all, what's the Game of Thrones to the Gamer? Crusader kings based Gamer OC.
1. New Game

The first thing that Allen did after waking was to immediately regret waking up. The stench of shit was overpowering and he was half certain it was what woke him up. To make matters worse, when he tried to breathe through his mouth he could taste it on his tongue, which made him gag and dry heave. He turned on his side to throw up, but there simply wasn't anything in it to vomit.

All in all, it was a rather rude awakening.

"What happened to me?" Allen wondered as he struggled to move past his headache and rebellious stomach in search of his last memories. He grasped at them, but they slipped through his fingers like smoke. Then, without any warning, they slammed into him like a truck.

"Ohh...I died again," Allen mused to himself as he rolled over onto his back, idly patting the damp cloth of his blazer that hid the wound that killed him, right over his heart. He stared up at the blue sky and did his best to ignore the stench of shit and the noise around him. A bunch of emotions swirled in his chest, but, upon reflecting on it, he realized that the one that stood out the most was the sense of satisfaction.

The first time he had died, it had been in an alleyway in his hometown on Christmas eve. There hadn't been a reason for it, not one that he was aware of at any rate. Some wanker had just run up to him as he walked home and stabbed him to death. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe he was a target. For all Allen knew, he was murdered purely for the prick's own enjoyment.

This time had been different, though. This time, he had died for a reason, a cause even.

Allen spent a year rising in the ranks of a criminal organization once he found himself in a new world after his first death. First, he started as a dish washer but became a criminal so he could stop worrying if he'd have enough to pay rent. Time went by and thanks to luck, or in most cases bad luck, he found himself as the right hand to a man that was building a criminal empire across the country.

He did a number of jobs, going down the rabbit hole and growing stronger as he did. He enjoyed the perks, all the money and power and respect...Allen had been sixteen when he found himself in that world and at the age of seventeen, he found the world was his play thing.

Then, one day, he saw something he couldn't unsee. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he tried to look the other way or pretend that he didn't see it, no matter what...what he saw was seared into his brain. It kept him up at night. It plagued him when he was awake and when he was alone with his thoughts, it tormented him until he was left breathless.

The image of a little girl...a little girl that was chained to a bed, her face beaten bloody and a fat old man on top of her.

Allen was a criminal. He was a drug dealer. He was a murder. Allen Walker was not a good person, he hadn't been a good person in a year. He was painfully aware of his innocence being chipped away with every murder he committed and every drug he sold.

Allen Walker knew how deep and dark the rabbit hole of crime went...and the type of people that were in that darkness. The people that thrived in it, that relished in causing pain to others, or worse, being utterly indifferent to it.

He managed to ignore it for the most part. Pretend that darkness wasn't connected to him by ordering others to deal with it. He had even managed to turn up his nose in distaste when he heard about human trafficking and pretend that he had nothing to do with it.

But Allen had. He knew that it happened, he knew there was a market, he knew that people were kidnapped, bought and then sold to the highest bidder. He knew it. He had just pretended that he hadn't. He was guilty of inaction and willful ignorance.

Until he couldn't anymore. And then it became too much. The rich foods that he ate tasted like ash. The joy he found in being respected and feared felt hollow and false. Everything dimmed, colors became dull and sounds were muted. There was nothing but that image of that little girl crying as she was beaten and raped.

Allen really hadn't planned for what happened next. He had just wanted it to stop. He wanted to stop what was happening in the back rooms of those clubs, he wanted to stop the buying and selling of people and he wanted to stop those that went in those clubs from hurting anyone else. Then, after that, he would pat himself on the back for a job well done, feel like a hero and everything would go back to normal.

Except it hadn't gone down like he was expecting.

Allen killed everyone in the club; the managers and the customers in a cold, focused rage of the likes he had never felt before. After everyone was dead and he was soaked in blood, only then did he realize what he had done but he hadn't regretted it. Not one bit. He freed those that had been abused, doing the only thing he knew how to help and just threw money at them so they could be cared for. Then he marched to Junior's office, his boss, and demanded that the practice be abolished in the criminal underworld.

They had a bit of a falling out after that. Junior wanted the business back for the money it made and Allen was against it. Then Junior tried to kill Allen, Allen tried to kill Junior and before he knew it, the empire was torn in half and plunged into a civil war.

A lot of people died. Not all of the criminals.

The end of the war hadn't been what Allen had expected. People made wars sound like they were only fought on fields and only ended when the opposing side was a pile of corpses. Instead, Junior ambushed Allen and managed to stab him through the heart. A blow that Allen returned, killing Junior.

Allen had made sure that there were others to carry on his work, making sure that there were only willing victims to the criminal underworld and Allen was sure that Junior did the same. However, he held out hope that his side would win after his second death.

"Didn't expect to wake up, though," he mused to himself aloud. However, he guessed that he shouldn't be too shocked. After his first death, he had found himself in that whiteness with those words that haunted him until this very day.

Would you like to start a new game?

He had said yes...still wasn't sure if he regretted it. When he found himself in that new world, he found himself with powers that boggled the mind.

Allen Walker was The Gamer.

'Status window,' he summoned the screen, wondering what effects death would have on his stats.

 **Allen Walker**

 **Title: The Gamer**

 **Level 1**

 **HP: 100**

 **Strength 5**

 **Endurance 5**

 **Dexterity 5**

 **Intelligence 5**

 **Wisdom 5**

 **Charisma 5**

 **Points to spend: 0**

Oh, god! No..no...this can't be happening to him! All of his stat points were reduced to five?! Before he kicked the bucket, all of them were in the triple digits! They were even lower than the first time he had died! He was even a level one again...agh, ohh the humanity!

Allen let out a groan as he bounced his head off the cobble stone that he was laying on. He wanted to scream his frustration to the heavens, letting whatever arsehole of a deity that inhabited those blue skies know what he thought of this atrocity, but he kept it in. Based on the sounds that were around him, he was in a public setting. He didn't bother looking around him; if anything, he was afraid of what he would see. The stench was awful and he was willing to be the sight would be just as bad.

Quickly moving past his frustration of being robbed of a year's hard work, of the results of blood, pain, sweat, and tears had brought him, he noticed that he had two new stats. Well, Endurance was another word for Vitality, but Charisma wasn't there before. At the same time, he was missing his luck skill entirely. Not that Allen really minded too much, his bad luck never changed no matter how high he raised it, but it was odd not seeing it there.

A quick tap on his title screen and he saw that all of the titles that he earned were missing. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from throwing a tantrum worthy of legends. It was when he was making an active effort to move past the loss, that he noticed that he was lacking his Mp bar.

'That's not a good sign,' he thought to himself. It was clear that the game's rules had changed and that he was reset back to being a newb. He was in a new world again, a new 'game', meaning that this 'game' went by different rules than the last one. Which meant that he would have to play differently. Before he had been akin to a mage character but without a mp bar, that option was no longer on the table.

It took all of his willpower to look at his Skill window and when he did, it was nothing short of a miracle that he didn't start crying.

 **Gamer Body (passive)- Ability to allow the user to live in reality as if it were a game.**

 **Gamer Mind (passive)- Allows the user to calmly and logically to think things through. Immunity to all physiological effects.**

God...this was awful. This was, without a single doubt, the worst thing that had ever happened to him...and he had died! Twice! All of his precious skills, all that time he spent grinding them...they're gone...

Allen groaned again pathetically, his eyes tearing up at his loss. His skills...his precious skills...gone in the wind. Never to be seen again...well, unless he grinded to get them back but holy hell, he did not look forward to spending days on end trying to get all of his skills back. He couldn't even get all of them...Gah, the thing he was going to miss the most was throwing fireballs. Like a bonafide mage!

Clenching his eyes shut for a long moment, he summoned the courage to open his inventory. However, it still took him a long moment to bring himself to actually look at it. Even with the aid of Gamer Mind, if he saw that his inventory had been cleaned out then he was going to cry his eyes out and use language so foul that the devil would jump out of his seat. Bystanders be damned.

He almost started laughing as relief washed over him. He still had most of his items. All of his posh suits, three for every day of the year, all of his food, his phone, and the few odds and ends that he kept in his inventory in case of an emergency or jokes. What he did notice was the absence of all of the drugs he kept on his person, not for him to use but to sell, all the money and his weapons. The only thing that remained in his inventory that could even be called a weapon was a small pocket knife from his original world.

That would be a loss but Allen could rationalize it. Clothing and food weren't much and his phone made the first trip with him the first world, but the others had been unique to the world. So, they were plucked from his inventory. Very annoying, but he could live with their loss. Probably.

Allen let out a sigh as he closed his eyes again, letting it all sink in. He accepted his death easily enough, but the loss of his skills and stats were a lot harder to swallow. He knew he could rise back up, possibly even better now he knew what he was doing, but it was the fact that all of that hard word was simply gone.

Now, he was most likely in a new world, again. He would have to start from scratch, again. That was what he wasn't looking forward to. He spent the last few months training his skills and when he wasn't doing that, he was relaxing near the pool. Allen was living the good life and he didn't want to wade through all that crap again just to get another taste of it.

"Oi, you dead?" Allen heard a voice ask him. He was faintly annoyed someone had interrupted his internal reflection, but he was thankful that he could understand the local language. Though, he did have an accent that Allen couldn't place. It wasn't British, like him, and it didn't sound American.

"Not yet," Allen answered opening his eyes. He saw a boy standing over him, looking at him with curious eyes. He couldn't be any older than thirteen if that. What stood out the most was the fact that his face was covered in dirt, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in months and Allen was almost thankful that the stench of shit was clogging his nose because the child looked like he reeked.

A skill has been created through a special action

 **Observe Lvl 1 Exp: 0%- Paying close attention to your surroundings and gather information by doing so.**

Ahh...observe. It had taken him so long to see that this skill had any use. Though, as a newb, he wasn't looking forward to the skill being created when he did every little action.

"Hmmm...you gonna be dyin' soon?" The child asked and Allen looked faintly annoyed. He glanced up at the information floating above his head.

 **Bronn**

 **22**

 **Sell-sword**

"Probably but I think I have a little time before I kick the bucket again," Allen mused, craning his neck to see more of the child. It was then that he noticed something very odd.

There was a sword in his belt. Like an actual sword. Not only that, his clothing was ragged and torn, but it looked like something a peasant would wear during the middle ages. Looking past the child, he saw that he was in an alleyway and those that walked in the open road didn't look much better.

Then he noticed the buildings. The cobblestone looked old, but not ancient. The buildings were made of wood and stone, the people that walked the streets looked poor and all their clothing were of terrible quality.

What stood out the most was how much it looked like something he would expect to see on a tv show based on the medieval ages.

'Ahh...shit,' Allen thought drily as he let out a sigh. As if things weren't bad enough, he was now in the medieval ages, or at least in the past of a world that went through a similar age. He had lucked out the first time, the world he found himself had been futuristic. Now he found himself in what was called the dark ages...and he was willing to be the clothes on his back that this worlds wasn't any different than his original worlds.

There were many good reasons while that point in time was called the dark ages.

Life was brutally short and it could end for any number of a hundred reasons. Starvation, bandits, disease, crossing the local lord to just name a few. The peasantry only bathed once a year, and if that wasn't gross enough, they shared the bathwater. The food they ate lacked just about every vitamin that they needed to grow healthy; usually consisting of some kind of soup with some vegetables and a little bit of meat if they were lucky; though, it was usually wasn't prepared properly or old. The homes were little more than hovels made out of sticks and rocks. When winter came around, they did next to nothing to keep the chill out.

It was also a violent time. Knight were not good people. Stories of them saving the princesses were just that; stories. A knight was someone that was trained for years to do violence and they were trained to be brutal at it. In times of war, there was no one Allen would rather have his back, but in times of peace, they were a nightmare. People died daily because some peasant annoyed a knight said knight remembered it had been a couple of days since he killed anyone.

It was so bad that was one of the key factors for the first Crusade. Pope Urban II wanted the violent knights and soldiers out of Europe more than he wanted the Holy Land.

Chivalry wasn't what the movies made it out to be. It wasn't bowing and opening doors for women, it focused more between men. It was the code of honor that tied them and dictated how they should treat others based on the rigid social rules of feudalism. For example; a knight told another knight that he was going to kill him if he was chivalrous then he would be forced to carry out that threat in a duel. However, if that same knight went home and beat his wife black and blue then he'd still be considered a chivalrous knight because his wife and daughter were considered below him in social status; thus he could treat them as he pleased.

This was also a point in time that women weren't really considered people. Their nickname was 'breeders' because they were used for that exact reason. A woman didn't have a say in anything and if she ever acted out, death was the usual punishment. Like if a noble woman lost her virginity before she was married and a scandal couldn't be afforded, she could be stoned to death. If she was lucky, or unlucky, she would be disfigured publicly. The best she could hope for was a walk of shame and be disinherited once it was over.

Wars were waged constantly and all the shit that came with it. Rape, plundering, death, sickness...

Then there was the nobility. Peasants were slaves in all but name. They had to ask their liege for permission to do just about everything, in theory. Having kids, getting married, buying new tools, improving the home, buying cattle, trading, leaving, and more. Most nobles let the peasants have some autonomy but the fact was that at any time the noble could say no and the peasants were forced to obey.

Allen didn't even want to get started about the abuses of that power.

The point was, the medieval times was a shit point in history.

And Allen found himself in it.

Seriously, he needed to invest in luck this go around. Heavily.

"You're pretty talkative for someone who's bleedin out. From the heart by the looks of it," Bronn commented as he poked the patch of wet cloth on Allen's suit. Allen looked down and saw that his suit was mostly whole, but his blood soaked through a fair portion of his chest.

"Eh, figured I'd die as I lived. Annoying," Allen replied, shrugging as much as he could, deciding to play along purely for his own amusement. Bronn snorted a laugh at that.

"Well, not ta rush you or anything, but would you mind hurrying it up? I like the look of your shoes," he commented, giving them what could only be described as a longing gaze. Allen couldn't blame him, his dress shoes were so comfortable that he sometimes used them as slippers.

"Wow. Aren't you just a shining beacon of humanity. You see a poor, dying man laying in a shit soaked alley and your first thought is what you can nick off him after he meets his maker?" Allen asked and Bronn seemed amused by that.

"I'm better than half this lot," he gestured around them. "At least I'll wait until your dead before taking your shoes. Most of 'em would but a knife in you just so they could have 'em. And," he reached down and pinched Allen's blazer and rolled it between his fingers. He seemed impressed by the quality of it. Which he should be. Allen paid a bloody fortune for this suit.

"You don't seem like your poor," he continued, lifting up one flap of his jacket and let out a low whistle by the smooth lining. "Can I have your clothes too? Never seen anything something as fine as this," he commented, lifting the other flap and stared blankly at what he was seeing. The dress shirt underneath it was torn where an anti-armor missile had hit Allen in the heart so Bronn could see the...scar of the wound. A giant patch of stark white flesh in a jagged circle marked where his heart was supposed to be.

"Fair enough, but no. alas, I feel the ice cold hands of death receding. I'll think I'll pull through," Allen commented, lightly smacking the child's hands away. Bronn just backed up meekly, trying to process what he had seen and Allen watched as the cogs turned in the kids head. Then, just like that, the weariness receded and the look of neutrality surfaced.

"You sure? A poke through the heart is pretty fatal. I can put you out your misery if you want," Bronn offered and Allen shot him a look before shaking his head. Perhaps, in a different life, he would have been shocked at a child barely in his teens offering to off him. Now it was just amusing; mostly because Bronn seemed like he was use to killing.

That was what Allen had a little trouble accepting.

"I'm sure. Thank you for your oh-so-generous offer," Allen said, declining. Bronn pursed his lips into a line, his hand resting on the short sword at his belt. He tilted his head at Allen, considering him for a moment and Allen did the same to him, though for different reasons.

Bronn was level 22. From his glimpse at the road, he saw that the average adult was in the 10-15 range while children were in the 5-10 range. That meant that Bronn, despite being so young, had some experience. Unfortunately, due to his setback, Allen was currently level 1, so Bronn was over twenty levels above him and since Observe was also back a level 1, he couldn't see his stats either.

"Who are you?" Bronn asked suddenly, his eyes darting down to the wet patch on his blazer. Luckily the spear that killed him had missed the blazer on the front side since Allen had it open when he fought. Though there would still be a hole on the back side but Allen could deal with that problem later.

"I'm me," Allen stated, looking baffled by the question, though he hid a grin. "Who else could I be?"

Bronn didn't look pleased with the answer, "you're dressed all fancy like but I found you bleedin out in some alley in fleabottom! Then, all of a sudden, you ain't bleedin out anymore and that scar where you heart is looks likes it old but the blood on that coat of yours is fresh as can be! Who are you?" The child demanded again, gripping his sword and making a show of it.

Allen almost forgot to be intimidated by the show, momentarily forgetting that he might not win this fight against this child. However, he smiled before bowing at the waist, surprising Bronn into taking a step back.

"The names Allen Walker. As for why I'm suddenly not dying...well, that's a bit of a long story. Let's just call me a quick healer," Allen said with a shrug. Before Bronn could press what he meant about that, Allen made a show of glancing down at the sword at the child's waist before meeting his eye again.

"You sell that sword?" He asked, already knowing the answer thanks to his title. Bronn looked a little surprised by the sudden shift in topic but a glimmer of greed entered his eyes as he squared his shoulders, smelling profit. He still had a lot of questions but Bronn clearly had his priorities straight.

"Aye, I do. You wanting to buy it?" He asked, trying to make himself seem like an adult. Allen smiled, fond memories of trying to do the same when he knew he was in way over his head surfaced. Just like that, Allen took a liking to the child.

"I do. I don't have any money-" Allen began and the professional look evaporated like water thrown on a fire, replaced with annoyance.

"Then why you offering to buy it then?" He snapped at Allen, his temper flaring. Time was money and wasted time was wasted money.

"Instead, I'll pay you with these," Allen continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. He reached into his coat pocket, though he reached into his inventory, and pulled out a pair of shoes.

Bronn's eyes went the size of dinner plates as he numbly took the shoes that were placed into his hands. His jaw dropped as he looked between the shoes and Allen, trying to piece together what he just saw. He knew for fact that there weren't any shoes hiding about when he checked Allen's jacket, yet here they were.

After trying, and failing, to understand just where Allen had pulled the shoes from, he gaped at Allen's grinning face. It looked a lot like a cat who was about to eat the canary.

"Who are you?" Bronn couldn't stop himself from asking again. He heard stories about magic growing up, tales of old men with pointy hats and long bearded doing things that normal people couldn't explain. Things like lighting candles from across the room or lifting things with their minds. Magic...wizards...that was the only thing that he could think of when he looked down at the shoes that Allen had made appear from thin air.

"I told you, the names Allen Walker," Allen beamed at the child, basking in his confusion. It was thoroughly amusing. "And, your new employer," he continued, giving the child a pat on the head. He instantly regretted it, his hand slick with grease and he rubbed it off on the child's sleeve.

Bronn just looked up at him dumbly before he shook his head.

"The pay better be good," he muttered more to himself as he kicked off the rags he called shoes and put on his new ones.

Allen smiled as he waved off Bronn's concerns, "don't you worry about that. One of my only redeeming qualities is that I take care of those that work for me." He assured as he walked past the child and into the street. Yep, it looked exactly as terrible as he expected a medieval city. The paint was chipped away and faded due to time and neglect. The streets were a murky brown color and Allen idly realized that he knew why as a woman threw the contents of a pot onto the street.

Allen gagged as he stepped around the disgusting contents, shooting a look at the woman before all but diving out the way when she tried to empty another pot on his head.

So...he was in a new world again, but this time, he wasn't going to luck out a meet someone that liked his face enough to offer a job. He was going to have start from scratch and he couldn't count on anyone's help.

"I have to be a self-made man," he mused, not pleased with the prospect. He already made himself a self-made man before, not counting the fact that it was mostly due to dumb luck and lying, so he wasn't looking forward to repeating the process over again. What could he do, though?

'First things first, I need money,' Allen thought to himself as he wandered aimlessly through the streets. A quick look over his shoulder and he saw Bronn following him, looking utterly amazed by the quality of his new shoes. That was good, it would keep Bronn interested in working for him until he could afford to pay him again and Allen doubted that he would accept another pair of shoes.

Allen, despite all of his griping and complaining, was actually more prepared to face this new world than he was the first go around. He had a better handle on his Gamer abilities, he didn't have a mental breakdown and an existential crisis, and he had experience being his own man.

Not only that, this was startlingly similar to several daydreams that he had back during his maths when he was supposed to be doing work. It was a fantasy that everyone had at least once; what would he do if he found himself back in time with all his modern knowledge?

The trend was him bringing modern technology, or at least less archaic, and getting rich off it. Then he would gather influence with that money, which he would turn into power. With that power, he would bring enlightenment to this backwater time, dispel their ill-conceived notions of the shape of the planet and its place in the universe before destroying the ideas that a woman is good for nothing other than having children and the gays needed to be set on fire. He would throw away feudalism along with the idea that blood determined right and ability.

By doing so, Allen would usher in a golden age that would last for a thousand years and be remembered as the greatest badass that there ever has, and ever will, been. That's how it always went in his head for the most part.

It was time to live out his daydreams and flip this world on its head. First things first, he needed to overcome his first obstacle in the way of greatness.

Poverty.

"Bronn," Allen said as he came into what looked like a market area. The buildings stopped being so jammed together and made a large square that was filled with stalls and people screaming before shoving stuff in his face. His bodyguard snapped to attention, managing to break free of his wonderment at the sound of his name and his eyes narrowed.

"How do you know my name?" He demanded, not sounding pleased at the prospect of an all knowing employer. It was weird enough that he's pulling things from thin air, but knowing things that he shouldn't was where Bronn drew the line.

"Because it's hanging over your head," Allen answered, giving Bronn a crooked grin. "It's the same way I knew you were a sell-sword," he added, telling the truth. Allen let out a bark of laughter as Bronn looked up, searching for the information and he only stopped when Allen snapped to get his attention.

"Do you know how to pick a pocket?" He asked, getting to the point. Bronn's grumpy and confused expression melted into neutrality as he gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Depends, you paid me for my sword. You didn't say nothin' about stealing," Bronn said, doing his best to sound like an upstanding citizen. He failed miserably.

Allen just reached into his blazer and pulled out half of a sandwich. Bronn tried as hard as he could but he couldn't stop the hungry look in his eye as he stared at the sandwich with the intensity only those that went hungry had. That was ham, fresh by the looks of it, and that green leaf stuff looked tasty as well.

Allen tore the half sandwich in half before handing it to Bronn, who wolfed it down in a single bite and licked his fingers greedily once he was done. Bronn eyed the other half but Allen pulled back just enough that Bronn could still focus on him out of the corner of his vision.

"It was good, right? If you pick two heavy wa-purses, then I'll give you a sandwich that's a foot long." He offered before plonking the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. Bronn disappeared into the crowd faster than he could blink.

Chuckling to himself, Allen entered the market district looking for a mark himself. Having more money was never a bad thing and it would let him reclaim one of his favorite skills.

Allen forced his way through the crowd, looking for someone that seemed like they could miss a few coins without going hungry. It was difficult, everyone was dressed in rags and covered in dirt and grease. Almost everyone looked like they were a day away from starving and that was those with money to buy food with. The beggars that hovered on the edges of the square looked like they hadn't seen a meal in weeks.

He had to walk up some steps before he stumbled into the richer market district. It was a little more spacious, enough so that he saw Bronn darting between people. The quality of the customers went up a little but it still took some time before Allen found someone that met his standards.

'Observe,' Allen used a mental command to activate the skill.

 **Quentin Rosby**

 **12**

 **Heir to house Rosby**

 **Opinion of you: ?**

 **Traits: ?**

 **Stats:**

 **Strength ?**

 **Endurance ?**

 **Dexterity ?**

 **Intelligence?**

 **Wisdom ?**

 **Charisma ?**

 **Luck ?**

 **Son to ?. Here to buy perfume for his beloved ?.**

Ohhh! What was this? Opinion of him? Traits? Those were new! They were missing because of his Observe being so low, but Allen made it a priority to grind the skill. Opinion could be a life saver and knowing someone's traits would make judging people's character much easier. It would also make knowing who to trust so very simple; a quick look at their opinion and if they had any bad traits that prompted disloyalty and that was that.

Suspecting that his opinion would have gone down if he knew what was about to happen to him, Allen walked towards the man as he haggled with a merchant. Pretending to be interested in the wares, Allen reached into his pocket and pulled the pocket knife out of his inventory. Once he was close, thanks to the knife being razor sharp, Allen sliced the string that connected it to his pants before tucking the pouch of coins into his inventory.

Through a special action, a skill has been created!

Pickpocket Lvl 1 Exp:0%- Going through someone's pockets and taking what you like as your own.

Ignoring the distressed cry, Allen opened his inventory and looked at his money counter. Unlike before, it didn't show dollar and cent signs. Now it showed gold, silver, and pence. The last one he recognized as his homeland's version of the penny and here he was guessing it represented bronze. The money system was straight forward, but he didn't know how much they were worth.

What could he buy with two pence? A silver stag? What could he buy with a golden dragon? Allen didn't know if he had a fortune in his pocket or if he was just a step above broke. Currently, he had five silver stags and fifteen pence. With any luck, Bronn would be able to answer some of his questions after handing over his ill-gotten gains.

Allen tools seat on some steps that overlooked the marketplace and flipped a coin in between his fingers as he waited for Bronn. After a few minutes, he frowned as he glanced down at the coin, thinking that he should have gotten a point for dexterity by now since the stat was so low.

However, before Allen got the chance to analyze the lack of results, Bronn entered his vision, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He tossed three bags at him in quick succession, which Allen caught deftly.

Through quick reflexes, your dexterity has risen by 1.

Allen dismissed the window with a mental command before shoving the pouches into his inventory. His money counter spiraled upwards until it showed that he had eighteen silver stags and fifty-six pence.

"Good," Allen praised, sparing Bronn a glance. The boy was staring at him, trying to figure him out but judging by the constipated look on his face, Bronn wasn't making much progress. Allen wasn't exactly helping by actively trying to be mysterious just to screw with him.

"You're not going to count it?" Bronn asked, sounding baffled.

"No need. Not counting the money that you pocketed," Bronn went ramrod straight at the accusation. He opened his mouth to defend himself but Allen waved the concerns away lazily.

"You're a starving kid and a greedy one at that. I'd be shocked if you didn't," Allen said before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the sandwich as promised. Bronn was practically salivating as he looked at it before doing his best to make it disappear once Allen handed it over.

"Anyway, we have eighteen stags and fifty-six pence adding it all together. Is that a lot-don't speak with your mouth full, it's bad manners." Allen chastised when Bronn tried to answer, chewed up sandwich trying to make a break for it out of his mouth. Obediently, Bronn swallowed before speaking as quickly as he could so he could get back to finishing the half devoured sandwich.

"Well, you could get a room at a nice inn for a night or, you could get a couple days worth of food. It's not a lot, but it ain't nothin to sneeze at either." Bronn answered, giving him an odd look as he took a much more muted bite of his sandwich. Allen rose an eyebrow, waiting for the question that the child wanted to ask. Bronn made sure to swallow before asking.

"Why don't you know what coin is worth? Haven't you ever bought somethin before?" Bronn asked quickly before eating again. Allen just chuckled as he shrugged.

"I have, but I've never used gold and silver before. Where I'm from we used paper for the most part," he answered before cutting Bronn off when he tried to hastily swallow to shoot off another question. "Can I pay someone to take me with them on a caravan or a ship with this much?"

Bronn shrugged helplessly, "dunno. I've never traveled on a ship or with a caravan before," he said honestly. When Allen looked disappointed by the answer, he was quick to offer a solution, "But we can find out if we head to the docks. I know fer fact that much will get you a spot in the cargo bay, at least."

"Perfect," Allen said, a plan slowly forming in his mind. One thing was for certain, he was leaving this city even if it was the last thing he did. Even in the past hour, he hadn't gone nose blind to the stench of shit that clung to everything and he wasn't planning on staying long enough to become nose blind to it.

"Lead the way," he ordered, glancing up at the huge castle that stood out against the skyline. It was very imposing and the red and black banners with a three-headed dragon only added to that. Though, he hoped that wasn't a sign that dragons existed in this world because that was a whole lot of fire breathing nope as far as he was concerned. Maybe when he wasn't a newb, he'd consider becoming a dragon slayer but until then he wanted the overgrown lizards to stay the hell away from him.

Breaking his gaze away from the castle, with a mental command, he summoned his map function. He saw a little arrow representing him and golden arrows that he was guessing represented the place's, which was called Kings Landing, version of the police. Zooming out until he was looking at continents.

The one on the right was called Westeros and the one on the left was Essos. Very clever. Zooming in a little, he saw little icons that spotted the area across Westeros and with the key, he saw that they were villages, cities, and castles. There was a filter to show the nobility of Westeros and Allen pressed it before taking a long look at the names. Tygarians, Lannisters, Tyrells, Baratheons. Starks...those seemed to be the names worth knowing by the looks of it but the rest of the names were a jumbled mess.

Allen didn't really understand what he was looking at too much and that frustrated him to no end. Before he could have glanced at this map and knew everything about it but now it felt like his thoughts were moving at a snails pace. Allen hadn't really ever notice himself becoming a genius because the stat increases had been gradual, however, now that it was in the lower single digits he felt like an idiot in comparison.

It was the same with all of his other stats as well. His body felt stiffer and weaker, like his spine might as well be a steel rod while his arms could be wet noodles for all the strength they had in them.

Yet, he had still managed to catch the bags, so his dexterity was still there. Before his first death, he wouldn't have made those catches and he wouldn't have made it some time afterward either. His dexterity, his reflexes, were still there. It was just felt like they were painfully slow.

Realizing that he was getting sidetracked, Allen tapped one of the filters on the edge of the map; development. Just like that, Allen decided that Westeros wasn't the place for him at the moment. Almost all of the North was blacked out with specs of gray. The rest of Westeros was much the same, specs of brighter shades of gray in almost random places. From what he was seeing, the only places in Westeros that were worth living in was in the Reach or Dorne.

Maybe he would have considered living there, but his attention was drawn to Essos, or rather the several cities that were larger than the rest of the smaller ones that dotted the coast. They were almost white, meaning that they were very developed, especially in comparison to Westeros.

Disguising it as scratching his nose, Allen pressed on the city called Myr, seeing that it was the whitest one out of the three cities near what was called the Disputed Lands. A rough summary appeared revealing next to no information, but it was enough for him to get an idea of what the city had to offer.

From the looks of it, it was almost like Venice during the Renaissance. A great focus on music, arts, and learning; something about being the best glass blowers and crossbows. He zoomed in and while the picture was 2D, Allen thought it would look rather pretty if it was as rich as it sounded. A quick press on the economy filter and Allen confirmed that it was.

'You'll do just nicely,' Allen thought to himself. If he really was going to even try this whole 'flip the world on its head' thing, then he needed somewhere to build a power base. Considering how rigid feudalism was, he was going to have trouble doing that here unless he became a knight or something. The only way that would happen was if there was a tourney open to peasants or if there was a war and after a quick check to with the waring filter, he saw that there wasn't.

There was one in Myr over the disputed lands against Tyrosh and Lys, making it even more appealing. War, as terrible as it was, breed opportunities. Maybe he could become a sell-sword like Bronn and make a little gold that way while grinding to earn his previous levels and stats back; two birds with one stone. It had been much the same reason why he became a criminal on the planet Remnant.

It didn't take long for the stench of rotting fish with a twinge of salt was added to the usual smell. Then a minute later, Allen came face to face with the docks. It wasn't as large as he was expecting but there were at least a dozen boats with their white sails standing tall as sailors carried crates from the hold.

There was a strip of buildings that looked like they could be warehouses and...oh...boobs...yeah, that was probably a brothel. Some of them, however, seemed in better condition and Allen deduced that they where they housed the managers for various businesses.

With a path in mind. He started down the steps, a...well, sad wasn't the right word. Disappointed that Bronn's easiest, and best paying, job was coming to an end was closer to the mark. He trailed behind Allen, hand resting on his sword and tried to not look disappointed as he scanned the ships.

Allen saw this and gave the child a pat on the back, "don't look so down. You'll be coming with me," he informed and Allen feared Bronn would get whiplash with how fast his attention snapped to him.

"I'm what?" Bronn demanded, sounding too surprised to sound angry.

"I can't say for certain since I don't know how much a dragon is worth, but those shoes of yours are worth at least one," Allen informed and Bronn's jaw dropped. He stared down at his feet in disbelief before he realized that he did believe it. The shoes were so comfortable that it was what he imagined walking on a cloud would be like; they were without a doubt the nicest things he had ever seen, much less owned.

Shutting his jaw with a click, knowing that he'd sooner part with his life before these shoes, he nodded in reluctant acceptance. It wasn't like he had anything that was weighing him down in Kings Landing and Allen paid well, better than any previous employer. So, he was going to chase the money and stick with Allen until he ran out of coin or he was offered more.

"I've never been on a ship before," he admitted before looking back at the ships with renewed interest. "where we goin'," he asked, glancing up at Allen.

"Myr. Know anything about it?" Allen asked, expecting the shake of Bronn's head. "Me neither, but I'm hoping that it doesn't reek of shit and there's more opportunity there to make a fortune."

"You plannin on being a sell-sword?" Bronn asked, looking surprised. Every sell-sword worth their salt knew about the three free cities and the lands they fought over. Allen idly thought with some amusement that Bronn was going to be experiencing that a lot with him.

"More or less, at least until I have enough gold to start a company," he replied as he scanned the information of those that walked by the, searching for someone that was either a captain or knew a captain going to the free city. From what he was seeing, the average dock worker was level 15 and they looked exactly like they do in the cartoons. Big bald men with tattoos of mermaids and anchors.

He had a general idea of what he needed to do thanks to years upon years of daydreams. Now it was just enacting that plan that he never thought he would use.

"You know how to fight?" Bronn pressed and Allen gave a half hearted shrug. While he had been a force to be reckoned with before, he wasn't sure how he would stand up to the world's population. Unlike his last world, assuming that this was a normal medieval time period and not a fantasy one with elves and dwarves, the people of this world probably didn't have abilities akin to superpowers.

The bar was a lot lower than the one Allen was use to fighting at. It was just Allen's stupidly low stats that had him worried.

"Even with the..you know?" Bronn continued to press, checking to see if anyone was listening. Allen let out a laugh at both the question and how suspicious he made himself look by doing it.

"Yes, even with the you know. Speaking about the you know, you're reacting to that very well," Allen observed. From his understanding of the medieval times, the knee-jerk reaction to seeing something that you didn't understand was to set it on fire.

Bronn shrugged, looking like he wanted to ask a thousand questions but didn't know how to start. Allen watched the cogs turn in his head, opening his mouth to say something before closing it with a click. He shrugged again and let out a breath, a look of resignation on his face.

"I'm not," he said honestly, "but if you don't do anything too queer then I won't let it bother me."

"Fair enough," Allen admitted as he saw what he was looking for out of the corner of his eye. Ignoring the absolutely perfect pair of breasts that tried to attach themselves to his arm, something that Bronn struggled with significantly more, Allen walked into the tavern/brothel. It only took a little bit of common sense to figure out what a bunch of men would want to do after spending so much time on the sea.

The tavern looked well maintained, better than he was expecting but Allen figured that made sense. They had great, constant business so they would have the money to make sure that the place didn't look so filthy you could catch a venereal disease just by walking through the door. Barely clad women served as both the waitresses and the -er, entertainment. The room was filled with a mess of noise; music, talking and the sounds of sex. The smell was terrible but it was better than what he was dealing with before.

Walking up to the barkeep, he took a seat and rose a two fingers. Bronn took a seat next to him, his eyes glued to a pair of bouncy breasts and Allen just shook his head in exasperation. He wasn't going to pull the holier than thou attitude because he was certain that he was just as bad when he saw boobs for the first time.

It took some time for his drinks, which seemed to be ale, though Allen knew precisely piss all about alcohol, and he gave the barkeep a winning smile. The older man rolled his eyes, already knowing what this was about before he grabbed a glass and spat in it before taking out a dish rag that looked like it was also soaked in spit. Suddenly, Allen didn't want to drink his ale anymore.

"Whatcha want to know?" He asked as he 'cleaned' away, his thick moustache twitching occasionally.

"Where's a captain that can take me to Myr? If not there, then one of the other free cities?" Allen asked, deciding to get right to the point. The barkeep seemed to ponder the question for a long time and it was Allen's turn to roll his eyes. He placed a silver stag onto the table and it was snatched up before he could blink.

"The dark skinned one in the corner on the right. He's a merchant, didn't say in what, but he's taking passengers since his usual run is a bit small since it's the start of winter n' all," the barkeep was happy to inform and Allen gave him a painfully fake smile. Now that he was broke again, every pence was painful to give away.

Grabbing his untouched drink, and Bronn by the shoulder to break him out of his daze, he crossed the room towards the man sitting in the corner. He was drinking alone, but that seemed to be by choice based on how fine his clothing was. Unlike everyone else in this shit-reeking city, he wasn't dressed in old stained rags. He was also clean, planting him at number two of his favorite people in this world.

 **Alim Nazzier**

 **15**

 **Merchant**

"Evening," Allen greeted placing his drink on the table before sliding it over to Alim. The deeply tanned man rose an eyebrow in response as he took the beverage. Allen gestured to the chair and Alim did the same, signaling Allen could sit down.

"I heard that you're sailing to Myr and had some room in your ship," Allen said as sat. Bronn took a chair next to him and he did his best to act like he was paying attention.

"In a sense. I have business in Volantis but my final destination is Myr," Alim corrected, glancing at the barkeep with an unreadable expression. When he looked back at Allen, he asked, "you wish to come? The two of you?"

"I do, and my ah," Allen floundered for a moment as he looked at Bronn. "Little brother will be coming as well," he decided and Alim cocked his head to the side, eyes darting between them.

"You look nothing alike," he said after a moment. Bronn had chestnut brown hair and matching eyes. Allen's hair was gray with patches of black while his eyes were silver with strands of black appearing almost randomly in his iris. At least until they hit a ring of black around his iris, making the fact that his eyes were silver stand out strikingly.

He looked like no other that Alim had ever seen before, including the Targaryens, meaning that there wasn't much of a family resemblance. Not only that, Allen was dressed in clothes of the likes Alim had never seen before; the sticking was so fine it rivaled silk in its smoothness. If it weren't for the small tears and the bloodstains, Alim would even go as far as to say they were clothes fit for a king.

Bronn, on the other hand, was wearing a tunic that started off as white but the original color was lost due to yellow sweat stains, dried blood, and dirt that had gathered in the past year since he washed it.

Allen also glanced at Bronn, who wasn't even acting like he was paying attention anymore due to committing the sight of boobs into his memory as if he would never see them again, and let out a chuckle.

"He's adopted," Allen explained simply before he reached into his blazer and pulled out one of the pouches of coins and slid it over to him. Alim picked it up, noting that the string had been cut, and tested it's weight.

"Silver?" He questioned as he tossed the bag up and down a few times, the coins jiggling.

"For the most part. A few pence added into the mix," Allen informed and Alim nodded slowly. However, hiding it as well as he did, Allen saw the glint of greed that entered his eye. He knew it well enough because he saw it every time he looked in a mirror.

"This much will get you into the hold-" Alim began explaining before another pouch was tossed in his direction. It was just as heavy as the first one, making the merchant smile. Allen idly noted that he was missing his canine teeth, for what reason he had no clue.

"How about a cabin?" Allen questioned and Alim let out a huff of laughter.

"Very well, my friend. A cabin," he agreed before reaching over the table and offering a hand. "Speaking of friends, I believe I should know your name."

"Allen Walker," Allen introduced himself as he clasped hands. "The little one that's seeing breasts for the first time is Bronn," he said, giving a firm handshake. Firm enough to show, that yes, Allen was very much a manly man, but not hard enough for it to seem that he was trying to intimidate him.

"Aim Nazzier , at your service," Alim introduced himself, bowing his head with a flourish.

"Well then, Alim, when do we set sail?" Allen asked, thinking the sooner the better. Allen would have feared that he was becoming delirious at all of the methane if he didn't know that Gamer Mind protected him from metal status effects, but he thought he was getting use to the smell. That was bad. That was very, very bad. Allen had standards to maintain and dealing with people that bathed once a year fell dreadfully short of those standards.

"In the morning before midday. I wish to see if anyone else will be joining us before we set sail," Alim responded and Allen nodded, feeling incredibly thankful. He would have to use the last remaining coin purse to rent a room, leaving him broke, but it was a small price to pay.

With their business concluded, Allen paid for a room in the tavern and waited for tomorrow.

…

Allen breathed in the fresh air, relishing in it. Three full days at sea and the novelty of having air that didn't reek still hadn't worn off. Currently, he was standing at the bow of the ship, looking off into the distance and just relaxing. Apparently, it would take about two weeks to reach Volantis, a few days less if they had favorable winds.

It didn't really bother Allen too much, taking the time to unwind for the first time in a year. He had risen to the top of the criminal organization so quickly and work upon work was thrown in his direction when he proved himself capable. Looking back on it, Allen realized that the entire reason the criminal empire had come to be was because of him and his bad luck making things go horribly wrong. Because of that, the little down time that he did have was spent grinding to make sure that he didn't die when something blew up in his face or, better yet, swing things his way when everything went to hell in a hand-basket.

It also gave him time to refine his idea's for taking over the world. He had the basics down well enough, but it was figuring out how to put those ideas into actions that was the tricky part. Even if this whole 'drag the medieval age to the modern age' thing didn't work out, Allen still needed to plan on how to get his hands on more money.

Few things sucked as much as poverty did.

Allen let out the breath, basking in the sunlight. He felt the tension leave his body from the war he had fought in his past life and the stress melted away. He was in a new world, facing new challenges but he knew how to overcome them. He wasn't a lost boy anymore; he was a man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it.

However, as Allen watched the sun slowly dip downwards, the view was suddenly obscured by a box.

 **A quest has been created!**

 **Title: Life of chains**

 **Main Objective: Resist a life of slavery by overtaking the slave ship**

 **Additional Objectives: Commandeer the ship before reaching Slavers Bay**

 **Refusal consequence: Mandatory quest**

 **Failure: Slavery or death**

 **Rewards: Freedom. Galley 'Iron Maiden' and it's contents. 500 Exp.**

"Shit."


	2. Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death

**A huge thank you to all of those that have favorited, followed and reviewed this story!**

"I'm guessing that you blame me for this based on that glare of yours," Allen commented as he noted that there was some dirt underneath one of his nails. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bronn's glare intensify as he picked out the filth.

"Yes," Bronn bit out, "I blame you. I'm going to be sold as a slave! All because of you," he spat, his chains cackling as he went to strike Allen. The chain stopped the blow cold before it came anywhere near, keeping his hands attached to the floor. Another chain was hooked around the collar around his neck, stopping him from doing anything other than sit up against the wall of the ship. It was very uncomfortable.

Allen knew because he was suffering from an identical set up. If anything, he should be the one complaining since he was also stripped naked because that wanker Alim took a liking to his suit. Allen didn't really mind that since he was going to sell it or throw it away, but he was thoroughly unhappy that his bare arse was forced to sit on splintering wood.

However, Allen knew that he really didn't have anyone to blame but himself. While he couldn't have known Alim was a slaver, nothing in his description hinted at it and his title was Merchant. He couldn't have known that he was a merchant that bought and sold people.

The reason that he had no one to blame but himself was because when the slavers came up to him mere seconds after the quest alert, he had gone with them meekly. What else could he do? He was a level 1 up against five level 15s. Maybe he could have taken them, his sluggish body aside, Allen was an experienced fighter but he didn't want to risk it. If there was one of them, sure, but not five and not when all it would take is a few good stabs and that'd be it. 100hp was absolutely nothing in a fight and he didn't fancy dancing with death so soon.

"Oh, don't be so over dramatic," Allen refuted, crossing his legs again to block the view from his manhood from the red headed woman across from him. No need to make things worse for her in an already terrible situation. Though, he was sure she already saw that the carpet matched the drapes.

Bronn tried to hit him again and scowled fiercely when he was once again stopped by the chains. "Over dramatic? You-! We're being sold into slavery! Do you know what that even means?" He questioned, frustration leaking into his voice. He should have known that this job was too good to be true. Good pay always meant hard work and now he was paying the price for forgetting that fact.

Allen rolled his eyes, "I know what slavery is." he defended himself without any real effort as he leaned back, careful to avoid splinters. He scanned the cargo hold of the ship and saw that there were another twenty people with them. Some were crying even a day after they were shoved down here while others were angry. One man had rubbed his wrists raw from trying to escape the chains.

Summoning his minimap, Allen saw thirty red arrows on the ship. Most of them were concentrated on what looked like the upper dock but there were a fair few in the sleeping quarters above them. So, they were out numbered as well as out gun-er sworded. Allen gave another look at everyone's levels and saw that Bronn was the highest level and the second to highest was level 18.

'How am I going to get out of this one?" He asked himself, looking up at the ceiling in thought and ignoring Bronn's disgruntlement. He could break out, that would be easy, but it what came after was the problem. Even with the element of surprise, out of the twenty, only a handful looked like they could put up a fight and they lacked any kind of weapons. Allen didn't have any, only his pocket knife but he intended to use that himself.

"Bronn, do you know anything about ships?" Allen asked suddenly, watching the red arrows lazily move about. The ones that were in the crew's sleeping quarters, however, remained motionless. Likely they were asleep and from his clock, he saw it was nearing eight at night.

Bronn bounced his head off the wall behind him in frustration, feeling very annoyed, "no. I don't know nothin about ships." He said, sending Allen a pointed glare for ignoring him and cutting off his tirade.

"I do," the woman from across of them said, getting both of their attention. She spoke softly, almost shyly, but she was meeting their gazes steadily. Her deep red hair was tossed about, half of it hanging in her face but Allen caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and what looked like a tear tattoo on her cheek.

 **Natasha Snow**

 **13**

 **Whore**

Allen glanced at the information, feeling a tad uncomfortable at the sight of her title. She seemed young, too young, only a year or so younger than Allen, at best. Yet, she was a whore. Probably kidnapped at a brothel at the docks. Regardless, Allen pushed past his discomfort to the matter at hand.

"You do?" Allen asked out of relief and visibly showed it when she nodded a bit hesitantly.

"You're a girl," Bronn pointed out, looking suspicious. Natasha only had a few years on Bronn, sixteen if that, so he guessed a little suspicion was warranted. Though, Allen was going out on a limb and guessing it wasn't her age that raised doubts in Bronn's mind.

Ahh...sexism. What a pain in the arse you are.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, looking willing to throw fists at the comment, before she spat out, "I worked at a tavern at the docks, so I know more about sailing than you, you little prat." She informed and Bronn's eyes narrowed as well, looking willing to strike a girl. However, before they could rip into each other verbally since they couldn't do it physically, Allen snapped a few times to get their attention.

"Focus people. This is important. Unless you want to be slaves?" Allen asked rhetorically and Allen saw that he had their full attention. He also had the attention of those around him and he made eye contact with them to make sure that the understood how serious this was.

"When it becomes night, how many people are on the deck?" Allen asked, lowering his voice so only the ones immediately around him could hear. He was almost thankful for the sobbing woman nearby that kept his voice from carrying to the floor above.

Natasha's brow furrowed in thought, "five or ten?" She said, sounding unsure. "It varies from crew to crew, but there shouldn't be any more than that...why?"

"Because we can't take all of them so we need to thin the herd, so to speak. The best way to do that is to divide and conquer; we kill the ones on the top deck when most of them are sleeping. Hopefully, we'll manage to do it quietly and then we can either seal the rest of them in the crew quarters or slit their throats while they're sleeping." Allen explained and those around him listened with rapt attention. However, Allen gave them a lopsided grin as he continued.

"That won't happen, though, plans are always the first casualty. So, someone is going to muck it up and the rest of them are going to wake up. If we can seal the door before hand then that's our best bet to winning this and avoiding a stalemate. Then we can just destroy the floorboards and shoot at them with arrows from above. Failing that..." Allen trailed off, thinking of a plan that would save their lives if they couldn't keep the majority in the room.

If he managed to level up a few times by killing a few guards, then they might have a chance. The stat points would be few but if he poured them into Intelligence he might be able to think of something on the fly.

"Failing that...?" Natasha echoed, waiting for him to finish, hanging off his every word.

"Ah, well, best case scenario is they throw us back in chains. Worst case, we all die," he finished and both Natasha and Bronn grimaced. Apparently, they had been expecting something that didn't involve them dying. Allen was thoroughly disappointed that he failed them.

"Ohh, lovely," Bronn commented sarcastically before he raised his wrists and gave them a shake. "I see one problem with that plan of yours," he pointed out in a deadpan.

Allen scoffed, "please don't insult me so." He said before he opened his inventory and paused for a moment. He was stark naked and he doubted that others would react as well as Bronn did to him pulling things out of thin air. So, he needed to pull his trusty lock pick from somewhere he could, theoretically, keep one.

Ruling out acting like he pulled it out his arse, he made it appear in his mouth. He pushed it out with his tongue and clutched it with his teeth, sending a wolfish grin at Bronn. The sell-sword seemed faintly impressed while Natasha seemed completely dumbfounded. Her mouth hung open as Allen spat the pick into his hand and lined it up with the lock.

 **Through a special action, a skill has been created!**

 **Lock picking level 1 Exp: 0%- Opening locks without the intended key**.

Almost instantly, Allen saw that the lock was very different from the others that he picked. The parts were thick and an absolute beast to push because they were so heavy and clunky. He expected to pick it in half a second because of how simple it was, but it took a minute alone just to test it enough to get started.

It was in that minute that someone noticed what he was doing.

"Please! Please my lord-" The woman that had been pitifully sobbing, curled into herself all but threw herself at him in an attempt to kneel at his feet when she saw him picking the lock. She was practically screaming her head off but Allen was quick to silence her.

" _Shut the fuck up_ ," he hissed sending her a glare that killed the words in her throat. Her mouth hung open uselessly and Allen seized the opportunity to drive home his point to the rest of them.

 **A skill has been created through a special action!**

 **Intimidating Look Lvl 1 Exp: 0%- Scaring others to do your will with a well placed glare.**

"I'm going to free us," he said in a loud whisper. All eyes were on him, all of them were filled to the brim and overflowing with desperate hope. They prayed that he would be their savior, that he would be the light of this very dark tunnel.

There was a time when Allen would have chaffed at that responsibility, afraid that he would fall short of their expectations. Now, however, after all, that he's seen and experienced, he simply took a steadying breath and squared his jaw as a heavy weight was thrown on his shoulders.

"But I need all of you to be quite. No-keep making the noises that you were making, cry and curse so they don't know anything is wrong..." he said, continuing to whisper his instructions. He didn't dare raise his voice when the ceiling could have ears. This meant that others had to whisper his words to those that couldn't hear them.

"When it becomes night, we'll sneak onto the upper deck and trap the rest of the crew in their quarters," he explained before with a click, the chains around his wrists came undone. A moment later the lock around his neck fell off, finally letting him move. Carefully, Allen removed the chains and the room became thick with an intensity that Allen found hard to describe.

It was like static electricity, constantly building, waiting for the opportunity to unleash itself. It only grew more and more intense as the chains binding Bronn fell off. Allen gave the child a lock pick, a wordless command and with no hesitation, Bronn went to work.

Those in the cargo hold followed Allen's instructions as he repeated them to each one he freed of their bindings. Those that were crying before continued to cry, though it did sound more forced, and those that were cursing as they tried to free themselves continued to curse. Before long, with the help of a few thieves that also knew how to pick locks, everyone was freed from their bindings.

Allen opened his mouth to tell everyone to keep it up, maybe some kind of rousing speech that would help them overcome the odds. There was a skill for that, he knew that much.

However, before he could say the first word, a loud grunt echoed in the cargo room. Allen whipped around and saw the source was Bronn, who was clutching his crotch as he staggered backward. He blinked in surprise before his eyes found who had kicked Bronn in the bollocks.

Natasha was fleeing to the door and before anyone had a chance to react, she was up the stairs and screaming in some language that he didn't understand and slammed the door behind her with practiced ease. Rustling could be heard above them as the ship came to life, people shouting as they rushed to the door.

Allen pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared at the door. Bronn, once he managed to speak, glanced up at him.

"Was that a part of your plan?" He asked sarcastically, still clutching his crotch.

Allen let out a breath, "would you believe me if I said yes?"

"No."

"Then no. This was not apart of my plan," Allen bit out, angered that he hadn't expected this. Of course, there would be a spy hidden among them to warn the others in case there was a revolt. Of course, he wouldn't be the first would be a slave that didn't like the idea and decided to break free. Of course, this wouldn't be simple; when were things ever simple?

"Use the boxes to block the doors," Allen instructed and that broke the stunned silence that took hold in the cargo bay. With a sense of urgency, the fellow prisoners grabbed the few crates and began piling them up near the base of the door and in the stairway. There wasn't enough to build a solid wall, Allen saw that easily, but there was enough that it would slow the slavers down when they tried to storm the cargo hold.

"Shit," Allen cursed to himself as he looked for a way out, hoping that it would just magically appear. Instead, there was just a solid room. The shelves were rapidly emptying of objects to secure the door, there weren't any windows to crawl out of. Above them were thirty slavers and below them was the ocean.

"Shit," Allen repeated as Bronn finally managed to get breath back into his lungs, though his balls still ached, and walked up to him.

"What do we do?" Bronn pressed and Allen wished he had an answer. The cargo hold didn't have any weapons, unfortunately, their captors weren't that stupid. There were only fish hooks, chains, tar and crates that stored what seemed to be dried fish.

The idea slammed into him like a truck. Turning around, Allen looked at the wall. Like he expected, it was boards of wood fitted close together and then sealed with pine tar and resins to keep the water out. Frantically once he heard beatings on the entrance to the cargo hold, letting them know that the slavers would enter soon, he traced a plank of wood. He saw that it was fairly long, around four feet, but short enough that he could work with it.

"Alright," Allen began, reaching down to his pocket but then he remembered that he was still naked. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the others were too preoccupied, though Bronn was watching him like a hawk, he opened his inventory and pulled both his pocket knife and a pair of boxers.

"Tell them to use the chains to tie everything together and block off the entrance. It doesn't matter if there're holes, all it needs is to be secure enough that'll slow them down. Then get the rest of them to thread those hooks and tie them together; you swing it and the hooks should dig in," Allen instructed and Bronn couldn't even bring himself to be uncomfortable that Allen made things appear out of thin air again. Even if this time he hadn't made it easy by acting like he pulled it from his pocket.

"It won't do much, having their face ripped off will stop them in their tracks," Allen explained as he jumped into the underwear and flicked open his knife.

Bronn nodded, glancing over his shoulder as the banging at the door became more intense. It wouldn't be too long before the door was reduced to splinters.

However, before he started relying Allen's orders, he looked at the knife in Allen's hand. One unlike he had ever seen before and once again, it struck just of foreign Allen was to everything that he knew.

"What are you going to do?" He asked before Allen pressed the knife into the fitting where the two boards met on the wall.

"I'm making a new exit," Allen said as he pushed down as hard as he could and drug the blade to the side. Shavings of old tar and resin were forced out underneath the sharp edge, falling to the floor lazily or gathering as the end of the stroke. Bronn went to work, making makeshift weapons and delaying the inevitable while Allen repeated the process.

He needed the tar out of the way for two reasons. It would make knocking the board out of place much easier and if he saw water, then he would know that he needed to go up a board.

Allen learned that he didn't need to when he forced the knife halfway, breaking free into the other side, and the lack of water flooded into the cargo hold when he retrieved it.

"Come on," Allen muttered to himself as he repeated the process, again and again, wedging the blade up and down to create less friction. After what felt like hours later, Allen created a small gap that ranged through the entire board.

Then he pushed and absolutely nothing happened. When that failed, he began beating the side of his fist on the board to get it to budge, but nothing was happening. Allen rained blows down on the board with increasing franticness when he heard the door splinter and his fellow prisoners made sounds of distress.

Allen was so focused on his task, that he didn't bother turning around when he heard a loud screech in pain from the slaver that Bronn had hooked in the face before savagely yanking to the side.

"Fuck," Allen roared as he punched the edge of the board with everything that he had. He wished so very desperately that he had his triple digit strength or even a few guns that were stolen from his inventory.

 **Through a special action, a skill has been created!**

 **Power strike Lvl 1 Exp: 0%- using all strength in one powerful blow.**

The window appeared the same time as the wood was knocked back, exposing nails that were five inches long, at least. The board turned downwards, collapsing under its own weight, but Allen reached out and caught it before it fell into the sea. After knocking the remaining nails out the support beam, Allen pulled the board into the ship.

Quickly stepping on it, he broke it in half before breaking it in half again. Then he had four scraps of wood with a few wicked looking nails in them. Wasting no time, he scooped them up in his hands and carried them to the defenders.

It was then that he noticed the three dead men that fell carelessly near the foot of the barricade, jagged wounds where they were stabbed. All of them were men and all of them were the ones that he was hoping that could fight.

Cursing, Allen crossed the distance and pressed a weapon in Bronn's hands, who looked at in appreciation for a moment. It was cut short when a spear lunged out and nearly caught him in the neck, only for Allen to catch it before giving Bronn a shove.

Allen yanked on the spear as hard as he could, dragging the holder forward. Then, as fast as he could, Allen lunged forward, leaning over a crate, and slammed a board into the top of his head. The nails sank in deep, to the center of his brain, and Allen couldn't pull his weapon out in time before another spear tried to catch him in the throat.

 **You have leveled up!**

As Allen yanked the spear back before twirling it and traded jabs with another spear, he thought that couldn't be right. He was a level one and he had killed a level fifteen, at least. There was no way that he only gotten one level from that. The last time this had happened, he gained two.

Taking a step back and handing the spear to Bronn, who took it like he expected that to happen, he opened his Status window.

 **Allen Walker**

 **Title: The Gamer**

 **Level 2**

 **HP: 112**

 **Strength 5**

 **Endurance 5**

 **Dexterity 6**

 **Intelligence 5**

 **Wisdom 5**

 **Charisma 5**

 **Points to spend: 4**

Allen looked at his exp bar and saw that he wasn't even close to hitting level three. Looking at it, Allen saw that the Exp requirements were absolutely ridiculous; he would have to kill another ten to level up again and even then he might have to kill an eleventh.

Apparently, someone cranked the difficulty to nightmare and forgot to tell him. Perfect.

What would be the best right now? Intelligence and Wisdom, maybe? That combo had gotten him out of plenty of tight spots before, perhaps it could do the same here? Allen considered it for a long moment before deciding against it. He had a plan, he knew what he needed to do, the only problem he had was if he could actually do it.

Endurance and Charisma were pointless for now; if Allen got stabbed here then he doubted that it was going to be by one person and Charisma...well, Allen also doubted that he was going to be able to talk himself out of this clusterfuck.

The long moment past and Allen put two points in Dexterity and two in Strength. His muscles contracted, expanding and stretching to their new limits. It felt like they were crawling underneath his skin, making Allen grit his teeth in pain before they settled seconds later. Thanks to Gamer Body, the pain vanished into nothing

Cracking his neck, he felt a fraction of a fraction of his strength return into his body. He still felt weak, so very weak compared to the peak that he once stood at, but it was better than nothing.

Catching Bronn by the shoulder, Allen dipped down and whispered in his ear, "I'm heading to the top deck. Hold them until I can end this." He instructed and Bronn tensed up but didn't spare Allen a glance. Not when there were many that wished to kill him.

"Don't get yerself killed," he instructed as he jabbed with his spear. Allen opened his mouth to reassure him that he was very difficult to kill, but he closed it. That might have been true before, but now it might be a lie.

Deciding to simply give Bronn a pat on the shoulder instead, he went back to his new opening. He saw that it was nearing night time, the sun hovering above the sea by what seemed an inch. More importantly, Allen saw that there wasn't a whole lot of room between him and the ocean.

Sending a silent prayer that this wasn't a fantasy world with sea monsters, Allen knocked another board loose with Power Strike and tossed it inside before squeezing himself out. Taking it slow to make sure that he didn't fall into the ocean, Allen leaned out half way and when he was in a favorable position, he made his way up.

It was awkward, but he managed to hold onto an outcropping of wood well enough to start pulling himself upwards. Once he was in a standing position, it became much easier. With the help of a low hanging rope and his natural height, Allen hung off the edge of the deck, peeking out to see if anyone was on it.

Like he expected, there was no one since they were all trying to break into the cargo hold. The sails were down, and the sky was clear, so they thought they didn't have anything to worry about.

Allen wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and pulled himself over the railing. Landing softly, Allen walked, his feet hitting the ground in a rolling motion as he sped across the deck. His destination was the captain's quarters.

With any luck, he would be able to convince him to surrender the ship to him if he took Alim hostage. However, Allen didn't have luck, if it wasn't already obvious. That wouldn't happen though but it would be better to cut the head off the snake before crushing the body.

 **Through a special action, a skill has been created!**

 **Sneak Lvl exp: 0%- Going unnoticed when you do not wish to be.**

Allen dismissed the window, feeling a little annoyed with constantly creating skills that he had maxed out before he entered this world. It was also a little disappointing to see that lvl 1 and knowing that he was going to have to grind them all the way back up.

It also didn't look like he was gaining experience any faster even though he knew the proper techniques. It made sense in a brutally unfair way, if a pro gamer makes a new character then he didn't level up faster. He just knows how to maximize efficiency to level up.

Allen shook his head, clearing it of the thoughts. This wasn't the time nor the place to think about how he should grind his skills.

Cursing to himself as he walked up the squeaky steps, Allen made his way to the captain's quarters. There wasn't a window, so he couldn't see what was going on, but he heard something going on in the room. He just couldn't tell what became the curses and screams that were going on below his feet as the battle for the cargo hold raged on.

Taking out his pocket knife, sorely missing his guns, he gripped the handle and took a glance at his mini-map. Two arrows were in there, one red while the other was gray...meaning one enemy and one neutral. Either way, they weren't near the door so he would have to cross the room to take them both out, assuming that the second person would become hostile once he entered.

Allen threw the door open and took two quick steps inside before he froze mid-step. There was a long list of things he was expecting, but what he just walked into still managed to surprise him.

Natasha was the gray arrow in the room and she sat naked directly over the red arrows crotch. Her hips rocked in a heavy but furious pace, earning groans of approval from Alim as he held her by the waist and greedily groped her butt. Her breasts bounced with every motion, bring his attention to the angry red bite marks around her light pink nipples, looking like a small peak on her full breasts. Natasha was looking up at the ceiling, exposing her pale neck and the dark yellow spots that were hidden beneath her collar before.

For a moment, the only thing Allen could hear was the harsh sounds of slapping meat, low grunting and soft gasps from Natasha as his mental brain waves flat lined. They suffered a harsh spike when Natasha looked down from the ceiling and looked directly at him. Her eyes were disturbingly vacant, glazed over as if no one was home.

Then, suddenly, she blinked and looked right at him.

Allen looked right back, waiting for the scream that would jump start his brain and signal him to leap across the room to slit her throat. A second of silence stretched on and one between them, one frozen in action and the other puzzled by the lack of reaction. Then that second stretched on to two, then three, then four. It was only broken when Alim reached up and pinched her nipple cruelly, barking an order in a language Allen couldn't understand.

Natasha let out a pathetic whimper before her hips resumed their pace, never breaking eye contact with Allen, a silent plea in them.

Allen decided to answer it but not in the way Natasha expected. Almost casually, he tossed the knife over to her, which she caught clumsily. Alim saw the action, lifting his head from the pillow as he made a demand in his language.

He didn't expect the answer he received.

With a cry of repressed rage and grief finally surfacing, Natasha stabbed downwards into Alim's chest, earning a scream from him. The first time, it was more out of shock that he had been stabbed than actual pain. The second, third, fourth and fifth screams were of pain as Natasha slammed the knife down savagely, screaming along side him as tears blurred her vision. She kept screaming, kept stabbing down in blind fury, sending droplets of blood across the room, even after Alim had stopped screaming and putting up weak attempts at self-defense.

Natasha only stopped when Allen caught her wrist. Taking the knife from her, she curled into herself, all but jumping off him and retreating to the back of the bed as she sobbed. Her chest heaved as fat tears rolled down her cheeks, splattered with blood, and snot began dribbling down her chin.

Allen let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It had been a risk giving her the knife, but it paid off. He knew what was happening here, the moment he saw that vacant look in her eyes. He saw it in that hell hole that he burnt to the ground along with all the sick fucks in it.

Natasha might have sold them out but she was a little girl. It was so odd, but looking at her curled into a ball as she cried the tears she denied herself for so long and Allen could only see a little girl that was abused even though she was only a year younger than him. A profound sense of disgust filled his chest as grabbed his stolen blazer and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Allen was a criminal but he had lines. Seeing little girls beaten and raped passed those lines by miles.

"Natasha," Allen said gently, grabbing a cloth and gently wiping away the blood and tears. The sound of her name made a hitch form in her sobs, but she managed to meekly meet his eyes. "I need you to pull yourself together. The fight's not over downstairs and we're still outnumbered," he informed as a look of pure fear entered her blue eyes.

"W-what," she stuttered, trembling at the thought. "B-but I thought...you were here...I thought it was done," she said shakily, trying so hard to swallow her fear that Allen would have wrapped his arms around her in a hug if he had the time or if he thought the gesture would be welcomed.

"It's not. I made a new exit and snuck around. What I need you to do is bring up a few of them so I can ambush them. Tell them to bring up the dead so they don't get in the way...can you do that?" He asked gently but there was no mistaking the order in the request. If they wanted to live through this then he needed to get the pressure off the door and tip the number of combatants in their favor.

Natasha took a breath that sounded much more like a gasp as she wiped her eyes with her wrists. She cleared them of tears, sniffling, before nodding her head jerkily. "I...I can," she said before standing, wrapping his jacket around her tighter and walked to the water bin to clean her face quickly.

While she was doing that, Allen stepped outside and to the trap door that leads to the lower deck. He saw two men standing guard that the top of the stairs that lead down to the cargo hold, both looking a little nervous but relaxed. They were at the back of the fight, they had nothing to worry about...or so they thought.

From the sounds of it, the battle was at a stalemate still. They couldn't force their way inside but it was a constant fight for the defenders. The parts that Allen managed to overhear from their discussion, it seemed a brat was the main reason for that.

'I'll owe Bronn a raise after this,' Allen thought to himself before raising his head when he heard a door closing. He glanced up at Natasha, who managed to clean off the blood but her eyes were still bloodshot from her crying.

'Dammit,' Allen thought to himself. He hated this. He really did, but it needed to be done for their survival. Alim was dead and even if he wasn't, he wouldn't have gone along with this scheme. Natasha was a 'member' of this crew, enough so that they should take an order from her if she said it came from Alim.

"Are you ready," Allen asked, letting out a breath that sounded exhausted to his own ears.

Natasha nodded but she looked anything but. Fear shone in her eyes but her expression was neutral, which was more than he had been expecting.

"There's two standing guard at the steps. Bring them up first. If you can, make sure that the others don't notice that you leave," he instructed before giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She tried to give him a confident smile, but it came out as a grimace.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Natasha stepped down bellow the main deck. Allen took the time to hide behind a barrel nearby. A few moments past and doubt crept up; what if she betrayed him again? What would he do? Would this be enough? How would he lure more slavers up?

Allen ignored them well enough out of practice, having plenty experience doing so when on a job. There were so many what ifs in his line of work and you were just better off not dealing with them until they became an issue.

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard heavy footsteps and creaking would just a mere moment before Natasha surfaced. Her mouth was set into a thin line, his-her clothing was open and based on the missing buttons it looked like it was ripped. The two slavers talked to each other, gesturing wildly with great big grins on their faces before one reached over and copped a feel of Natasha's butt.

Allen took that as his signal and he left his hiding place. He fell in step behind them and once he was close enough, he jabbed his knife into the mans ribs as close to his heart as he could manage. To make sure that he killed him, Allen drug the blade forward before pulling it out and slitting the man's throat for good measure.

His friend barely had time to react, his hand dropped down to the hammer in his belt but he couldn't draw it in time. Natasha turned on her heel and plunged her small dagger that she took from the captain's quarters into the slavers thick gut and when he bent over involuntary, she stabbed wildly and got him in the neck. He fell to a knee, trying to stem the flow of blood but it slipped through his fingers like a river.

With a quick step, Allen stabbed him in the back, aiming for the heart again, in the hopes that he would get more Exp...and, just so he could feel a bit better about himself, so Natasha wouldn't have to kill again. Judging by her reaction, Alim was likely her first kill and she didn't have Gamer Mind keeping her calm and cool so she could rationalize it.

The slaver fell flat on his face, dead, and Natasha stared dumbly at it.

"What did you tell them," Allen asked as he grabbed the feet on one corpse and drug it off to the side, out of sight. She clearly didn't use the picking up corpses one.

"I told them that...Alim...wanted the watch...he do-did that sometimes," she added the last part to herself, shifting from one foot to the other. She swallowed the lump in her throat and suppressed the tears that tried to spring in her eyes. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the bodies, the one she helped create.

"I'm very glad that pricks' dead," Allen said as he drug the other body out the way. If anything, he was upset that his passing was so quick. Though the victim of his perversions killed him in the end, so there was a silver lining.

"He is...isn't he?" Natasha muttered to herself, the fact starting to sink in. However, Allen couldn't have that. No now, not when he needed her to do her job. She could come to terms with her new freedom and the death of her tormenter on her own time later.

"Hey, hey," Allen said, breaking her out of her darkening thoughts. "Not now. The rest of them are depending on us," he pushed, trying to stress how badly their chances were without sounding like there was no hope.

Once they got, say, another four men then the numbers would more or less even...then it would be a problem of what to do from there. The slavers were fighting men while Allen had Bronn, a bunch of women that never held a weapon and a few men that were beaten before this began to make sure they couldn't do much even if there was a revolt.

"Yes, m'lord," Natasha replied instantly and Allen didn't waste time correcting her.

"This time, tell them to bring up the bodies. Tell them not to send more than four men at once to avoid thinning them out too much," he instructed, thinking that he could take on four of them if he had the element of surprise. However, he caught himself thinking as if he wasn't as weak as a newborn kitten; quickly rethinking the odds, he decided that two in a fight was much closer to the truth.

Natasha disappeared beneath the deck again and Allen took his hiding spot behind the barrels. He needed to kill two of them before they knew he was there.

A minute went by before Allen heard anything other than the muted sounds of battle going down below. He took the time to check his mini map and saw that the defenders were holding strong. He counted the arrows and saw that they lost another two defenders and it was when he was counting the slavers that he heard footsteps coming up.

A bald head surfaced first before another slaver followed him up, holding a corpse of their brethren between them as they walked up the steps. They talked to each other in clipped, angry tones before walking towards the center of the deck. Allen recalled that he had a subtitles option in his Options menu, one that he hadn't needed in months, and quickly flipped it on.

[Annoying bastards, the lot of them. We won't get anything for them at Volantis, not when it gets out they have some fight in them,] one said and the two that followed the first group replied to that with a loud snort and a spit.

[We lost on this even if we do get some coin fer them. Lost six to these cunts and Azoth ain't ever going to see out of his eye again. Kylar's face is a mess...fuckin fish hooks. I told Captain that keepin them there was a bad idea...] he let out a sigh as he dropped the body carelessly next to the other. To Allen's annoyance, they seemed fine with standing around and talking.

[You told the captain to move 'em so they couldn't pick the locks...didn't stop that gray haired bastard, though. Bet he's the one who gave them the idea...shit, I've never seen that, though. Kylar's face just...] one of them said, making a dragging motion along with some sound effects that Allen guessed represented someone getting their face ripped off.

Allen hadn't expected them to be that useful, but he was hardly complaining.

[I didn't like the look of that one the moment he stepped on the ship. Never seen anyone look like that before...I hear plenty about that fair faced fellow, what his name...Rhaegar! All them Targaryen's have that white hair and purple eyes, but I ain't ever hear about anyone with gray and black hair. Don't like the look of his eyes either,] One said and Allen found grim amusement that they were talking about him right before they were about to die.

[That's why captain took him. Planned to sell him to the Mother of Slaves in Volantis, she always pays good coin for pleasure slaves that have something interesting about 'em.]

One of them opened his mouth, most likely to make a crude joke involving his penis and this so called Mother of Slaves, but he was cut off when Allen's pocket knife entered his throat before being yanked forward in a spray of blood, severing numerous arteries with its wicked edge.

The three men blinked as their comrade reached up to clutch his throat, too shocked to think to react and it was for that reason that Allen managed to plunge the blade into one of the slaver's unclothed chest. Allen missed the heart, but the slaver staggered backward, clutching the would and for the moment that was enough.

It clicked that they were under attack and the other two took out their cutlasses. Allen pressed his attack, knowing that they had him in both numbers and range with his pocket knife as his weapon. He stepped forward, jabbing out with his knife before he had to jerk his body to the side to avoid a stab to the gut.

Allen grabbed the blade of one cutlass, the edge cutting into his hand and chipping away at his hp, but he ignored the flash of pain as he stopped the slaver from swinging again. Taking another step forward, he went to stab the man in the throat to both kill him and stop him from screaming, but he was forced to dodge out the way when the other slaver swung at him.

The best he managed was to give him a shallow poke in the stomach before Allen threw his hips back to avoid a wild slash. Still holding the cutlass, Allen jerked forward, slicing his hand deeper, but managed to startle the man, who was more focused on keeping his insides inside, into taking a step forward.

Allen meant to use the blade to deflect the overhanded slash that was aimed for his head, but the man was pulled off balance easier than Allen was expecting. Instead, the blade crashed down into his fellow slavers wrist, all but severing it. Only a thin strip of flesh and veins connected the appendage, so Allen seized the opportunity and yanked the sword to the side harshly. The slaver screamed bloody murder as he hand was ripped off, but Allen made sure to quickly silence it by sticking him in the neck.

'Shit,' Allen thought to himself as he tossed the blade up and caught it by the hilt with his hand. The wound was already healed, but the blood was messing with his grip.

The last slaver snarled at him, cursing at him in his language but Allen didn't read what it said. He didn't dare to.

Knowing that he needed to end this quickly, he leapt forward, his cutlass bouncing gracelessly off the slaver's blade. Allen was many things, but he was no swordsman. However, it was enough for him to come in close and plunge his knife under the slaver's chin and into the roof of his mouth.

Allen hoped that would kill him, but the pocket knife wasn't long enough to enter his brain. The slaver screamed in pain through his forced shut mouth, splattering blood in Allen's face as he did so. Allen ignored the stinging in his eyes long enough that to pull out the knife and hastily drag it across his throat, sending another spray of blood that trickled down Allen's chest.

Backing up as he tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes but if felt like he only smeared it, he couldn't see the slaver that he stabbed in the chest run up to him with a sword raised. Allen cried out as he felt himself be stabbed in the gut, his eyes snapping open despite the blood in them. The slaver headbutted him, which Allen managed to absorb with his own forehead, but he couldn't stop it when the slaver grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the railing of the ship.

Allen gritted his teeth, trying not to scream as he felt the sword be jostled. He was so very aware of his hp bar draining far too quickly for his liking as he swung at the slaver but the cutlass was knocked out of his hand. The slaver was also quick to grab onto the hand that held his knife when it made a stab at him.

Using his only free hand, he pushed on the slaver's face, trying to get him off him so Allen could yank the sword out of his gut. However, the slaver weighed too much and Allen couldn't get any leverage as he leaned over the railing.

Thinking fast, he jabbed his thumb into the slaver's eye. He aimed for the edge and sank it in, earning a scream from the slaver but that was nothing when Allen flicked his thumb and popped it out. The slaver stumbled backward, his eye hanging uselessly by the optic nerve before he tried to gently put it back in. It was in vain because Allen was quick to pull the sword out of his stomach, hissing as he did so before swinging with all his strength to behead the man.

Allen let out a breath of relief as the slaver's head bounced off the deck before he glanced at the door. To his relief, he saw Natasha standing there, eyes wide and her jaw hanging. Patting his stomach to make sure the wound had healed, he felt smooth skin underneath the blood. However, he knew that his health was little below a quarter thanks to the fact he was always aware of how much health he had at any given moment.

"Close the door," Allen instructed as he grabbed a body. The sound of his voice gave Natasha a jolt before her body moved out of reflex to the commanding tone of voice. She grabbed the door and flipped it over before it slammed on the deck with a heavy crash, signaling a lull in the fighting downstairs as the slavers questioned what just happened.

Before they had a chance to figure it out, Allen carelessly threw a body on the floor door along with tipping one of the barrels he had hidden behind on top of it. Deciding that it was better safe than sorry, Allen started to drag another body over as the slavers reached the door and tried to push it upwards. They were making some progress, but the corpse stopped the barrel from rolling off, which kept them from rising the door more than a few inches.

When Allen came near, a spear leapt through the small openings, trying to plant itself in Allen's leg. However, Allen wasn't going to let himself die of a blind stab, not when he was so very aware of how little health he had, and he used the corpse in his hand to take the blow for him. When Allen threw the body on the door, slamming it back down, the spear twisted at an awkward angle, breaking the spear head off. Allen was quick to pick that up and even quicker to step away from the few swords and spears that tried to get him.

Allen looked down at the floor door and the bodies keeping it shut before he let out a long sigh of relief. A glance at his mini map told him that the slavers had split their remaining force; out of the remaining sixteen slavers, eight were trying to force their way into the cargo hold while the other eight were trying to force the door up.

He also took a moment to shift through the windows that had appeared during the fight.

 **Sword Mastery Lvl 1 exp: 0%- proficiency in use of sword techniques and styles**

 **Physical Endurance Lvl 1 exp: 0%- The durability of your body goes up and you take less damage. 1% less damage taken.**

Sword Mastery was new but Allen saw that it fell under the same rules as before. To level it up he would have to gain and grind skills that fell under Sword Mastery. From what he could tell from his previous game, it was a passive skill that let him learn and grinned new skills related to whatever mastery with a less steep learning curve. Allen hadn't gotten it to a hundred in his last game, so he didn't know the merits of maxing it out.

Physical Endurance, on the other hand, was a skill that needed to be maxed out as soon as he could get it. It was well worth all the pain it took to max it out, being all but immune to physical damage was beyond useful. The skill saved his life more times than he cared to count. He would enlist Bronn's help leveling it up later but that was later and he had plenty on his plate for now.

"Natasha," Allen said, snapping the girl out of her still shell shocked stare that was focused on his unmarked stomach. If he had time for it, Allen would have been more understanding; she had just seen him pull a sword out of his stomach like it was nothing when it normally would have killed anyone else or at the very least kick start the whole dying process.

To her, it seemed like he was fine. She had no way of knowing how close that stab nearly killed him.

"Do we have any, uh, bows and arrows? Maybe a crossbow or something? Anything with some range to it?" He asked and Natasha shook her head, glancing down at the door.

"No, m'lord. The few that we have are down there," she gestured to the door and Allen suppressed his urge to curse. That wasn't bad, but it wasn't good.

The bows and arrows would be of little use to the slavers since they were in a relatively confined space. Allen had little to fear from up here and the opening to the cargo hold was narrow when Allen last saw it a few minutes ago. However, they would have helped a great deal to Allen; the term shooting fish in a barrel would be accurate to what he had planned.

Either way, it didn't matter. The plan was useless since he didn't have any kind of ranged weapon.

"How much food is down there?" Allen asked, wondering if they could just starve them out. There were worse plans...and it would give him time to learn how to use his new ship...

"Enough for...three weeks? A-...Alim always stored more in case they got lost at sea...," Natasha said, swallowing her emotions that tried to surface at the name of her tormentor.

"Would it be kept in the cargo hold?" Allen pressed, knowing that they still couldn't win in a straight up fight. They would have a chance, but Allen didn't fight when he wasn't sure he would win. Even if they did attack from both sides, they would loose too many people at this ship needed bodies to sail it. The stalemate he feared was coming to be but it was their best option at the moment. It might be their only option.

"Most of it but they kept snacks in their quarters. Things they bought at the docks and didn't feel like sharing," Natasha forced out, still reeling from all that transpired. She was pushing it off admirably but it was sinking in and all the emotional baggage was weighing her down.

"We can't let them have the cargo hold," Allen realized, seeing their only chance of victory. With a plan in mind, he recruited Natasha's help and moved the remaining four bodies onto the floor door just to make sure that they couldn't be opened. With once exit sealed, Allen began climbing over the railing before he paused.

Natasha shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do with herself. Allen didn't think she would betray them, again, not after everything that had happened but he didn't trust her not to break down. He couldn't have that, not now.

"Come down with me," he ordered and that only made the shifting worse as Natasha was struck with indecision. Knowing exactly what she was so hesitant about, Allen gave her a reassuring grin, though he doubted that it did much good considering he was covered in blood. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you. I promise," he assured, meaning it.

Allen didn't make promises that he couldn't keep.

That seemed to do the trick because she meekly followed him over the railing. Instructing her where to put her feet as they climbed down, Allen noticed that the defenders had expanded the gap by several boards. Within seconds, Allen had re-entered the cargo hold and was impressed by the changes he saw.

The door was mostly busted down but the space where the fighting was taking places was narrow by the crates stacked on top of each other. They were kept up by the chains, which were hazardously nailed into the walls using the planks from the wall instead of using them as weapons. This stopped the slavers from forcing through along with several women keeping their head low as the pushed against the slavers trying to gain entry.

"Bronn," Allen called out getting the child's...man's attention. Young as he might be, Allen had difficulty think him as a child when his face was covered in blood and the spear in hand was covered in gore. Bronn looked surprised to see him, his eye's quickly going wide at the sight of him before narrowing dangerously when Natasha entered the cargo hold.

"She was their slave. She was doing what it took to survive," he said simply to both Bronn and the others that looked in their direction with eyes full of anger and betrayal. Natasha shrunk into herself, surprising Allen when she retreated a half step behind him.

"Natasha killed the captain herself and helped me kill another six of the bastards. She's on our side and that's the end of it," he continued, stamping out the thoughts of vengeance with an authoritative tone. Bronn nodded stiffly and the resentment faded. The same couldn't be said for the others but a quick glare in their direction made it clear that their opinions were noted and dismissed.

"I've sealed the entrance to the top deck, so they're trapped. We have the food, so we're going to have to starve them until they surrender," Allen said as he looked over the fortifications with a cynical eye. With just a glance, Allen knew that some were going to have to stay down here to make sure that they didn't gain entry and to keep them away from breaking open the barrels for the food within.

The knowledge that Intimidation had leveled up appeared in his mind. At least his settings from his last life carried over.

However, it didn't need to be many. Just one or two to hold the crates and maybe that many to keep the slavers away. The rest could go on the main deck and learn how to use this ship.

Allen turned around and glanced at Natasha, "do you know how to sail a ship?" He asked, hoping that she would know more than the rest of them. He doubted that it was as simple as turning the wheel in the direction that he wanted to go in.

"I do," Natasha said in a voice just above a whisper as she tried her best to straighten up when faced with all the stares but the image was ruined by her bloodshot eyes and the slight quiver in her lip that told everyone that she was scared. Scared and emotionally drained.

"I sailed with A-Alim for four years...well, not as a sailor, I was their whore, but I picked up on it after some time," she explained and Allen clenched his jaw so hard that is teeth ached. Sixteen minus four was far too fucking young for anyone to start being a whore.

Fury rose in Allen's chest only to be tempered by Gamer Mind when it threatened to take control of him. That allowed him to harness his anger in ways few could, hone it to a fine edge that burned with the intensity of the sun. He was in perfect control over his own mind, just as he had been when he saw that little girl being abused.

And, just like that, Allen knew what he was going to do with the prisoners once they surrendered.

 **Originally, Natasha was meant to be around Bronn's age but I decided to change her age. It felt too wrong having someone so young in a sex scene, even if in this point in time a woman was considered a woman when she had her first period. So, I changed her age closer to Allen's to sooth my conscious. However, I do hope that it gets the point across that I'm going to try to make this story reflect the medieval ages to the best of my ability.**

 **That means deaths are going to be brutal, in war there will be war crimes, murder, and plots a plenty all the while the peasantry is considered garbage. Some of what I'm going to write isn't going to be pretty and I'm going to earn the M rating of this story.**

 **Now that you've been warned, I hope you've enjoyed the chapter! Tell me what you think in a review because they're the reason I got this chapter out so fast!**


	3. Mopping up

**Sorry it took me so long to update. Hopefully, it won't happen again. Also, since I have multiple stories now, the length will be cut down to around six thousand words or less so I can update more regularly.**

* * *

"Nmaskaar, mera naam elan vaakar hai. Aaj aap kaise hain," Allen said with more than a little difficulty as he huffed for breath. With every word, he dipped down and felt his triceps burn in effort while sweat dripped from his chest to his chin and then into his eyes because his teenage body hated him. His feet were planted on the wall while his hands kept him propped up.

Allen was feeling the pain but he wasn't seeing any gains.

The only reaction Natasha gave to Allen butchering the language was a quick blink of her eyes before giving him a thin smile.

"Much better ma-'lord," she said kindly, brushing over her mistake of nearly calling him master. Normally, Allen would insist on her just calling him Allen, but she nearly had a mental breakdown when he offered the morning after the revolt. Until she stopped struggling to stop saying master, he would let her take her time adjusting to calling him by his 'title' or until she gave him enough of a reason to insist that she call him by his name.

"However, you are still moving your lips too much. Low valarien focuses more on the tongue," she said, reminding him for the thousandth time. Really, this girl had the patience of a saint because they've been at this for hours, barely getting past the first phrase, yet she wasn't ripping her hair out by the handfuls or screaming her frustrations to the heavens. Very impressive.

"Namaskaar, mera naam elan vaakar hai. Aaj aap kaise hain," Allen said, much more slowly and taking great care to keep the movement of his lips to a minimum. It sounded miles better since Allen could speak individual words with less difficulty but he could hardly hold a conversation when it took him a minute to speak each sentence.

It was a right pain in the arse, especially when there were so many other skills he could be grinding or re-creating, but he needed to learn the language of the land. As much of a pain, this was, having a language barrier would be an even greater one. Sure, he could understand them well enough thanks to Subtitles, but if Natasha decided to go her separate way then he'd loose his only method of communication.

 **Language Mastery has leveled up!**

 **Knowledge of Low has leveled up!**

 **Due to deep thinking about the future and problem solving, Wisdom has gone up by 1.**

The information appeared to the front of Allen's mind before fading away with a blink of his eyes. He repressed a sigh at it, despite making progress, Allen hated the snail's pace it felt like he was moving. In reality, he was going at a breakneck pace compared to his first time around; it had taken him a whole two weeks to start creating useful skills, not counting dishwashing.

However, it was just very frustrating not having his bonuses for shorter grinding times or still having to progress at a normal pace when he already knew how to do things. Take learning languages for example; Remnant only had four, not counting dead languages, since there were only four kingdoms left in the world, but after he mastered one learning the remaining three had been a breeze due to language mastery leveling up. By the time he learned the last one, it only took a few days and he was speaking it like a native.

Now those bonuses were gone, he only managed to learn a handful of words in the same time.

'I really took those buffs for granted,' Allen thought with a mental sigh. All too often he had complained that a skill didn't give him the buff he deserved for the level he had...if only he knew...

"Much better," Natasha gently encouraged. "Try again, except this time try to say it a little faster," she said and Allen opened his mouth to do so when the door to the captain quarters was thrown open, which was now Allen's after cleaning the place up. Meaning throwing the corpse overboard and replacing the bed with an inflatable mattress before ransacking the room in search of Alim's hidden stash of gold, which was hidden in a false drawer.

Allen still didn't know how much money was worth here, but he currently has thirteen gold dragons, a few hundred silver, and even more bronze pence. Bronn seemed impressed, so Allen was taking that as a good sign.

Back to matters at hand, Allen's door was carelessly thrown open before Bronn strolled into the room. He gave a cocky smirk to Allen that slid off his face as he saw Natasha was sitting next to him. The two glared at each other but Allen cleared his throat before either of them could kick off a fight, knowing that this one could get physical since neither were restrained.

"The slavers are trying ta surrender," Bronn said casually, tearing his eyes from Natasha, though he made sure to have his gaze linger at the start of the sentence. Out of the corner of his eye, Allen saw Natasha's knuckles turn white.

Ignoring it for now, Allen frowned, "it's only been four days." It took three days for starvation to start and the slavers had a little food from what Natasha said. Even if they ate it in the few days before the revolt, Allen expected them to hold out for a lot longer than this.

"Have they tried getting to the food again," he questioned as he shifted his weight, dipping down again. The first time was in the afternoon of the first day during a lull in the fighting. They realized that they were truly trapped and since they didn't know how many had died, they also assumed they were outnumbered. When Allen didn't press the attack, though he did remove the corpses to show that they would be pincered if he chose to attack, they correctly assumed he was going to starve them into a surrender and tried to steal some food. They lost another defender, but they kept the food out of their hands.

"No, they haven't," Bronn said with a shrug not thinking too much of it. After he gutted the slaver, he assumed that the message got across that there was a blood price to be paid if they wanted to eat.

"I don't like it. It's a trap," Allen deduced with a fair amount of ease. It's what he would do if he was in their position. Fake a surrender and make a break for it when they opened the door; their chances of survival weren't exactly high but they were greater than the certainty of starving to death.

"Aye, that's what I thought but we've been eating in front of them for a few days now. They're hungry and the only thing they have to eat are the corpses," Bronn said with another shrug. "None of them look like they've gone hungry fer this long before, so I think they just broke." He informed and Allen debated that in his head for a moment.

He had never gone hungry before, not truly hungry. Not the kind where your stomach curls into itself and growls the message, 'eat something, we're dying.' Even the few times he did go a day or two without food, he never felt hunger because of Gamer Body. He still ate plenty but that was more out of habit or appeasing his sweet tooth.

"You sure?" Allen questioned before he kicked off the wall and let gravity carry him until his feet touched the floor again. His triceps burned for a moment before the pain faded and Allen was disappointed by the lack of information that Strength had gone up. He had been at it for hours!

Bronn seemed to think about it for a moment, considering his answer before he nodded with certainty. "aye, I'm sure of it. Folk can starve for weeks if they ain't got a choice but dangle some food in front of them and they'll cave sooner than later."

"Fair enough," Allen admitted, "get the others and get ready in case they make a break for it. Have four down below while the rest stay up top," Allen ordered as he shrugged on a shirt. Bronn nodded, stepping outside and began barking orders in a way that would make a drill sergeant proud.

Fitting his head through the hole, Allen caught a glimpse of Natasha looking at him intently, or rather the jagged patch of pale flesh right above his heart, before glancing down at the table top in an attempt to hide the fact she was staring. Allen didn't say anything as he put his arms through the holes, he wouldn't until Natasha brought the subject up.

Allen learned that sometimes it's better to let people bring up subjects at their own pace. Bronn had...accepted...the fact that he could make objects appear out of thin air while Natasha saw him get skewered and be perfectly fine moments later. If-when, they brought it up, he would be perfectly happy to lie his cute little ass off about his abilities to put their minds at ease. Until then, they could think on it as much as they like.

After making sure that he put his shirt on properly, far too many embarrassing incidences for him not to, he walked out the door with Natasha trying to replace his shadow. Ever since the revolt and after she was done crying her eyes out, she was all but attached to his hip.

He didn't mind, not when she was also teaching him how to speak the language of the land, and not when she was wearing so little. Natasha was attractive; no other way to say it. Red hair, bright blue eyes, light freckles that made it endearing, a kissable mouth and cheekbones that some women would murder for. As for her attire, it was one long strip of cloth that was faintly see through. Down her back, it made a giant V that dipped so low the dimple where her spine met her hips was visible while the two stripes were pulled forward to 'cover' her breasts before it was all tied down with a simple string at her waist.

The rest of it went down to her ankles, but it did little to cover her modesty. Her entire sides were exposed to the elements, not even connecting at the hip, and Allen knew the reason for it. Easy access to the, ah, tools of her trade.

She was beautiful and she was doing wonders for the image he was trying to cultivate.

As Allen walked onto the deck, he thought about another reason that he didn't mind her sticking so close. Those on the deck looked at him with respect, awe even, but when they saw Natasha, their eyes were quick to narrow into glares. Some of them were filled with anger for her involvement with both the slavers and her betrayal of them. In the others, there was lust mixed with anger.

That was a very dangerous combination, so Allen made sure that Natasha was in his sight at all times.

Allen walked to the floor door and gazed down at it. In the evening sun, he saw a bald slaver look up at him with sunken in eyes that were almost pitiful. Upon seeing Allen, he swallowed thickly and Allen could almost feel it himself how dry his throat was.

[We wish to surrender, m'lord,] He said in a raspy voice and Allen frowned lightly. Apparently, Bonn was right, four days of no food or water had a greater effect than he realized. He looked terrible, weak even, thought Allen made sure not to underestimate what a desperate man was capable of.

After all, more often than not, Allen had been the desperate man.

"Tell him that I accept his surrender. They will be allowed up one at a time to be bound. Once they are all secure, they will be given food and water," Allen said in a neutral tone as Natasha repeated his orders to the slaver. Something flashed in his eyes and Allen repressed a small smirk.

"If any of them resist, we'll wait another three days. Either they eat their dead or be too weak once we come down there and slit their throats," he tacked on and Natasha didn't even bat an eyelash as she relayed the message. That got a reaction out of the slaver, grimacing so hard that several drops of sweat fell off his face.

Having spent a few days in the hold himself, Allen could attest to how hot it became in the ship. It was a solid ninety degrees outside but in the ship it had felt even hotter. One would think it would be cooler because of the shade, but it was a lot like sitting in a car in the heat with the air conditioner off for several days.

The more he thought about it, the more he understood why they were surrendering so quickly.

[You're a right cunt, but aye, we accept. Do we have yer word than we won't be harmed?]

"Tell him no. I can only promise that they won't receive worse than what they deserve," Allen answered, his face blank as he stared down at the slaver dully. The slaver met his gaze as Natasha repeated his words for a long moment before he looked away muttering a few choice words underneath his breath.

Allen wasn't sure what it was about his gaze that unsettled people so. He stared at himself for hours on end just to try to figure it out but he never did. However, every time he settled his heavy gaze that told the receiver that he was done with their shit, almost every single time they backed down. The few who didn't were those that had a gaze to match his own.

Still looking away, the slaver nodded and Allen allowed himself a small grin. It was a lot like a scimitar; curved and sharp.

"All of you, get ready. Bronn and Clyde," Bronn and a young man snapped to attention, "lift up the gate enough that he can slip through. If they try anything, pin him." He ordered and the two men walked on either side of the floor door, each grabbing an edge.

Allen grabbed a thin rope that they kept up here for when they did surrender before giving Bronn a small nod. With that, they lifted the door a few inches, a sign for the slaver to squeeze through, though Allen could only imagine that this wasn't going to how he had planned it. With a half dozen weapons aimed at him, the slaver slipped through the small opening before Bronn and Clyde closed it.

The slaver held out his hands, doing his best to seem intimidating, but that stopped when Allen began trying his hands. He wrapped the rope around his thumbs and in between his fingers; not only would it be very uncomfortable, but it would stop him from loosening the knots until they could afford to put the chains on them.

The slaver grunted in discomfort as he finished the knot and Allen gave him a pat on the cheek, a universal smile on his face as he did so. The one that said, 'I won and you lost.'

One he was done, Allen passed him to one of his...underlings? Minions? Yeah, minions, he passed the slaver to one of his minions, who kept a spear at his throat before tying him to the railing. Once he was secure, not looking too happy about any of this, Allen nodded at Bronn, who lifted the floor door in response.

The process repeated itself for what felt like an hour. Until there was a row of slavers, all very secure and tied to the railing.

Cocking his head to the side, he summoned his mini map. There were another three red arrows bellow them, yet no one was stepping forward to surrender.

"Is that everyone," Allen asked but he knew the answer. The first slaver confirmed that they were all up here, so Allen had to fight to keep the smile off his face.

The slavers plan was easily guessed. Once they went down with their fellow slavers the remaining three would ambush them, free the slavers before rushing up. They knew most of them hadn't used a sword before and if they got to the top deck, then they would loose the battle. Depending how many Allen sent down with the slavers, they could tip the numbers back in their favor.

It was actually a decent plan, especially considering how narrow the fighting space was and that they had all the bows and arrows. It would have worked if Allen wasn't such a suspicious bastard or had a nifty enemy detection device.

"Bronn, there's three more down there. Find something that you can use as a shield, and grab one for me too. We'll take care of the stragglers," Allen ordered and Bronn just sighed as he shook his head.

"And how in the seven hells do you know that?" He asked but based on his tone, Allen could tell that he wasn't expecting an answer. Smart of him.

"Because I know everything not counting the things I don't know," he answered and earned an exasperated eye roll from his bodyguard.

"Right of course," Bronn muttered as he started his search for a makeshift shield. "Why did I expect anything different," he wondered to himself as he walked away.

Thoroughly amused, Allen turned his attention to Natasha. "Will you be accompanying me down or will you stay in the captain's quarters?" He asked, an unspoken implication that she couldn't stay out on the deck present. Not that it even needed to be there because he barely managed to finish his sentence before she answered.

"If I may, I will go with you, m'lord," she said quickly, gladly facing the prospect of an ambush over spending any time alone with Allen's minions. Not exactly surprising.

Bronn came back a minute later, carrying two shield-like planks of wood that were ripped out of the side of the ship. He was going to have to put a stop to that since this was now his ship and he didn't fancy swimming the rest of the way to Myr.

As if his eyes were drawn to it, he looked up and gazed out to the land mass in the distance. There was a spec of white and Allen knew it was the city of Myr. It was too far to tell, but it seemed nice enough. The water was a lovely shade of blue, the beaches were white and the city seemed large and rich on his map filters. Despite knowing better, Allen decided to hold out some hope that all of this would be worth it once he got there.

Taking the shield, Allen opted to pull out his pocket knife from his pocket. A spear wouldn't do much good in confined spaces. Bronn pulled out his sword, which he got back from a slaver that tried to kill him with it. Natasha, on the other hand, pulled out a dagger and awkwardly held it her hands, trying to copy how Allen was holding his.

"Alrightly then. Let's kill these three and were off to Myr," he said to Bronn but when he glanced up at the rest of his minions, he said. "We'll dock at Myr and all of you will be given coin to return home. Oh, and I'll personally make sure that the boats you get on aren't slave ships," he added as he gestured for Clyde to open the door.

His minions wished him well, their gratitude flowing like water from their lips as Allen descended first. It continued until he gestured for Clyde to close the door once Bronn and Natasha were clear.

With his eye's trained on his mini-map, he saw that there was one on his right while the other two were on his left. Given the layout, the one on the right had to have the crossbow while the other two would attack in the behind when they turned to face them. Again, a fairly decent plan. It might have worked on anyone else.

Behind his back, he held up a finger and pointed it to the right as he nodded at Bronn. He got the message and answered it with a nod. Natasha patiently waited for her orders and Allen realized she fully expected to take part in the fight.

Allen glanced at her level again and saw that she was only thirteen. Still higher than him, but not high enough.

He shook his head and pointed at her and then to the ground. Her jaw twitched, unhappy about that but years of training kept her from showing it. Allen gave her a half smile before he picked up her hand and used his thumb to space out her fingers to a proper grip. Natasha looked confused for a moment before she came to the conclusion that she was guarding the stairs. Allen let her believe it instead of him not trusting her.

Natasha didn't voice it, didn't say anything at all about it, but Allen went out on a limb and guessed that she suffered a great deal at the slavers hands. People liked to believe it was easy confronting your tormenters but they couldn't be more wrong. If it were easy then they wouldn't have tormenters in the first place. Allen didn't want to risk her freezing up, at best, or planting the knife in his spine out of instinctual fear or out of habit if one gave the order.

Giving Bronn another nod, he went right and Allen went left.

Thunk

Thunk

Allen brought the shield up in time and blinked in surprise as a bolt punched through it while another tried to find it's way to his gut.

'Huh, I had it backward,' Allen thought with some surprise, idly thinking that was much less effective before he lowered the shield past his eyes. It was just in time to see the slavers reach over and grab two preloaded crossbows. Okay, that was clever. He'd give them that much.

Quickly charging into the room he tried to close the distance before they could fire off another shot. However, before he could even cross half of it, another bolt slammed into his makeshift shield, right in a split and ended it's short lived life. The second bolt came a moment after, just long enough that the shield was broken and slammed into his arm.

Allen grunted in pain but he ignored it long enough to sling the ruined shield at the two men, smacking one of them in the head. The other one was unharmed and met him as his friend recovered with a spear. A poor choice.

Allen grabbed just below the head of the spear, ignoring the flash of pain in his bicep, before pushing it away from him. The slaver took a half step backward, not expecting for Allen to slip behind his guard so quickly. It was too little and too late, Allen stabbed him in the stomach once and the slaver let out a howl, but he still managed to wrap his hands around Allen's throat in an attempt to choke the life out of him with his final act.

He ended that by kicking the slaver in the balls, getting his grip to loosen a fraction before stabbing him in the throat. As the slaver gargled on his own blood, Allen tried to throw him at the remaining slaver but the best he managed was an awkward shove in his direction. Though, it was lucky that he did because the blade of a cutlass sliced into the slavers collarbone, earning another scream.

Ignoring the scream of pain that sounded like it was happening underwater, Allen grabbed the blade and shoved the soon to be corpse with his shoulder. Allen drove the last slaver into the corner, the man cursing all the way as he smacked into wood.

Allen was about to stab him in the face, intending to end the long stream of curses that were coming out his mouth but stopped when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. The slaver that Bronn was meant to kill was standing behind him, a bloodless sword ready to be plunged into him.

"Shit," Allen muttered, preparing himself for the pain. Depending on where he was stabbed, he might still survive this. Hopefully, he would go for the gut, he had enough health that he could survive it, probably. It would be close but-

The slaver let out a strangled cry before he turned, revealing Natasha. The slaver cursed and Allen saw that her dagger was stuck into his back, yet his face showed something he hadn't been expecting. Betrayal? Whatever it was, it quickly turned to anger as the salver raised a fist and hit her so hard that her head snapped to the side before falling to the ground unconscious.

Allen didn't waste time, letting go of the cutlass blade he tossed his pocket knife into his newly free hand and stabbed the slaver in the heart as he turned around to finish him off. He looked down at in confusion for a moment, dropping his cutlass to touch it lightly before Allen yanked it out and gave him a kick. The slaver collapsed like a sack of potatoes, letting Allen turn his attention to the last slaver.

With his cutlass still buried in the slaver that was almost dead, Allen curled his hand into a fist and used Power Strike on his face. His nose flattened in a spray of blood, like a water balloon that had a brick dropped on it. Allen used it again, and again, and another time to be sure before he took a step backward.

The two men collapsed, one dead and the other unconscious. Shaking his fist lightly, he noticed that the bolt was still in his bicep. Seeing that his hand was bloody and not wanting hep C, Allen used his teeth to pull it out. Only then did he pay any attention to the windows that appeared during the fight.

 **Shields Mastery lvl 1 exp: 0%- using an object, in some cases people, to protect you from harm.**

 **Dagger Mastery has leveled up by 1!**

 **Physical Endurance has leveled up by 1! 1% more damage will be reduced from physical damage.**

"That went as well as expected," he muttered to himself before he walked over to Natasha, who's eyes fluttered beneath her eyelids, showing that she was still alive. A bruise was forming around her eyes, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. Allen picked her up bridal style, sending a curious glance at the corpse next to her before he pushed his thoughts away for more pressing matters.

Stepping into the room that Bronn had fought, he saw the sell-sword laying on the floor. At first, Allen thought he might be dead, but he heard a faint groan coming from him. Much like Natasha, a bruise was going to find its way around his eye. That was good. They were both alive...meaning that slaver had spared them both.

All it would have taken was a simple stab once Bronn was unconscious or using the sword in his hand instead of his fist to kill Natasha.

Yet, Allen killed him...

He let out a sigh as he lightly kicked Bronn so he'd wake up. There was no point in crying over spilled milk and the man was still a slaver, regardless if he wasn't a killer. One good deed didn't wash away a lifetime of wrongs, sparing two people didn't absolve him of selling countless others into slavery. He might not have been a killer, but he was still a slaver so Allen didn't regret killing him in the slightest.

"Wha-?" Bronn muttered, confused as to why he was drooling on the floor before it all came rushing back to him in an instant. He reached for his sword as he rolled to his feet, recovering from his unconsciousness quickly but lowered the weapon when he saw Allen standing there, one eyebrow raised and a grin playing at his lips.

"Is it over?" He asked and only lowered his sword when Allen nodded. A slow creeping blush was making it up his neck, showing that he was thoroughly embarrassed, though he was trying to hide it, that he had been defeated. It was just bad for business; Bronn knew he was young by most people's standards, though he was a few years away from being a man, so it made getting people to take him seriously, read giving him a job, much more difficult.

However, seeing him in such a pitiful state...?

"How'd that happen?" Allen asked as he shifted Natasha in his arms when he noticed some of his blood was getting on her...dress.

Bronn did his best not to fidget where he stood, he had plenty of practice thanks to his sack of shit dad. "I was expectin for him to shoot with an arrow since he was the only one on that side. He didn't have one and he knocked me on my ass," Bronn explained a little too quickly.

Ohhhh...! They had been doing the unexpected thing, making it an even better plan. Good on them, it wasn't often that Allen was outsmarted, though it was mostly because his intelligence was in the single digits. At least that was the story he was going with.

"Make sure it doesn't happen again. The next guy you lose to won't be so nice," Allen warned and Bronn nodded his head, a lot like a child agreeing with a scolding. Bronn seemed to have gotten the point, so Allen wasn't going to press the issue. Considering that Bronn was meant to be his bodyguard, and his number one minion, he wouldn't allow this again, even if Bronn was just, technically, a child.

There was remarkably little point in paying someone to protect him if he wasn't being protected.

"Now, come on. Let's deal with the rest of them," Allen said as he began walking up the stairs. With a quick confirmation that the deed was done, the door was thrown open and his minions rejoiced of his victory. The tied up slavers, which looked a little more bloodied than he remembered, despaired that their plan hadn't worked.

"Put them in chains," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked towards the captains quarters. His minions scurried to obey and the shuffling of feet disappear when Allen closed the door behind him. He went to put Natasha on his inflatable bed, but she stirred when he was removing his arms.

She groaned lightly before she forced her eyes open, ignoring the flash of pain that felt like she was being stabbed in the eyes, "master?" She muttered, her vision clearing in one eye but the other was beginning to swell.

"Nope. Just me, Allen," he informed with a grin before he finished removing his arms. However, before he could withdraw one, she grabbed his wrist with the strength of a newborn. Allen could have broken her grasp on accident, so he stilled as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Durzo...did I kill him?" She asked in a small voice and Allen had a name to go with the face.

"No. I did," he said and Natasha only blinked in response.

"Oh...," the word slipped out of her mouth as she let go of his wrist. Allen didn't know what to make of that reaction. She clearly cared that he was dead, but there weren't any tears nor did she look particularly broken up about it. Out of curiosity, Allen asked who he was.

"He was A-Alim's first mate...he was...nice," she explained with a small shrug. "He stopped the others when they got too rough or when they used me for too long. He always made sure that I had moon tea so I wouldn't have to carry their child..." she said almost wistfully. Allen felt a pang of guilt try to rise before he crushed it mercilessly. Durzo might have been a niceish guy but he wasn't a good one.

"I think he loved me," she added, earning a look of surprise from Allen. Natasha blushed, her eyes darting down as she continued, "as much as he could. I was everyone's whore...but he treated me like I was his lover." Natasha finished her tone blank.

"Are you mad that I killed him," Allen asked, thinking that if she was then she sure wasn't acting like it.

Natasha shook her head, "no, ma-'lord. But...was his death quick," she asked, looking back up at Allen.

"Yeah, it was. Anything through the heart kills you pretty quick," he said, absent mindedly rubbing his heart. He could attest to that; though, his death had more been because he took an anti-tank missile to the chest rather than his heart being pierced. At least it hadn't exploded, that would have been a mess.

The motion wasn't lost on Natasha, who opened her mouth to ask about the scar that she saw but quickly closed it. It wasn't a slaves place to question their master.

Seeing that she wasn't going to ask, Allen grabbed a wet towel from his inventory and cleaned off his hands. "I have to go deal with the slavers, but real quick; why did Alim have his canine teeth ripped out?" He asked on a hunch. When he was up and close with the other slavers, he saw that they were also missing their canine teeth.

"It marks them as slavers, so they can't be captured and sold," she explained, resisting the urge to touch her cheek that marked her as a pleasure slave.

"That's what I thought...," Allen hummed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of pliers. "Well, in that case, things might get a little messy. Do ignore any screams you might hear and try to get some rest," he informed, doing nothing to alleviate the slowing growing pit of nervousness Natasha felt form in her stomach.

"Toodles," he waved goodbye before closing the door.


	4. Reputation

The buyer checked the once slaver turned soon-to-be slave's teeth by pushing up his upper lip with his thumbs. He frowned as he looked at the row of missing teeth, freshly pulled so they were swollen and bloody. The buyer glanced at Allen, an accusation very clear in his gaze but Allen just smiled back, looking utterly unapologetic.

"He tripped and fell on the way onto the ship," he supplied an answer and the buyer didn't look like he bought it in the slightest.

"All four and ten of them?" He asked, his tone so dry that the desert would be proud.

Allen looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar for a moment before the confident smirk returned to his lips. "Yes. There's an uneven step and I forgot to warn them. I'll be sure to patch it up, so no worries."

The buyer blinks slowly before letting out a long breath, still unconvinced, but he gave the man a look over all the same. Thick arms, hands of a sailor, wasn't too pretty to look at but looks didn't matter for building slaves. He turned the slave around and admired his back along with the few tattoos that marked his back. Good broad shoulders...

"A silver for each," he offered turning the slave back around. The man was crying silently, either because Allen had ripped some of his teeth out or because he was being sold like cattle. It was the dealers choice, really.

"Two," Allen shot back. He didn't know how much a silver was worth, especially considering that he was on a different continent, but he knew enough to always assume he was being low balled. "Look at him; could pick the two of us up just using one arm! He's also a born sailor, spent more time on the ocean that he has on land," Allen lied through his teeth.

No harm in playing them up, though.

The buyer snorted at that, "this one lived on a farm for some time." He said, looking at the slave's hands, brushing a thumb over a callous. "Rope burns show that he's been on a ship for longer, though, but some of them are bad. I doubt he's a very good sailor," the buyer muttered before he frowned.

"But, aye, he's strong. Two silvers for 'em, the same for the rest of the lot," the buyer said, letting Allen know that he had been cheated since he didn't fight for less. Oh well, live and learn.

 **A skill has been created through a special action!**

 **Bargaining** lvl **1** exp **: 0%- The art of paying less while making others pay more.**

Allen dismissed the window with a mental command as he shook the buyer's forearm, which was a little awkward, and accepted the pouch of coins that was handed to him. The slaves were lead away by the collars around their necks and Allen put the money in his inventory, showing him that he hadn't been short changed.

Then the buyer did the unexpected thing and turned to Allen, cupping his cheeks and tilting so he could see each cheek. Allen was more than a little confused so he just let it happen until the buyer spoke.

"I'll give you...two dragons for you," the buyer offered, reaching up and testing Allen's hair for dyes. A gleam of greed entered his eyes when his fingers came away clean. Not even a bit of grease because Allen had several life times of shampoo in his inventory so he made sure to wash up. He felt disgusting after having to bath with a damp rag after one day, he didn't know how Bronn managed to do it if he bathed at all.

"Beg your pardon?" Allen rose an eyebrow; was this guy really trying to buy him?

"Five dragons and a cut of the profits from the Fair Maidens when they buy you from me," the buyer said, upping the ante.

"Ummmm, no. Don't fancy becoming a slave. Sorry mate," Allen said, removing his face from the buyer's hands. The buyer scowled, clearly upset that Allen wasn't accepting gold for his freedom before a thought struck him.

"How about this then; we go up to Fair Maidens and you, er, whore yerself there. Fair Maidens only has the, well, fairest maidens in the whole city, they do. They'll pay you well for your seed and if you get any of their girls with child, they'll buy them off yer hands real quick. I can get you-" The buyer said but Allen cut him off by raising a hand, his expression stony.

"I'm not selling myself into slavery and I sure as fuck won't be selling my kids into it. Good day," Allen said before turning on his heel and walking away. That offer had taken him by surprise but he guessed it shouldn't have. His appearance hadn't been anything too outrageous back in his last game, but here most had never seen anything like him.

From the sound of it, pleasure slaves were breed to be beautiful and considering his unique appearance...well, maybe he could become a high-class escort or something if he's running low on cash.

With business concluded, he turned back to Bronn and Natasha, who stood behind him. Bronn looked alerted, trying to work hard to make up for the embarrassment of before so he could keep his job while Natasha ignored the glances she was getting. After docking, it hadn't taken Allen a minute to figure out what the tear mark on her cheek meant.

Though, thankfully, he didn't have to deal with those with wandering hands. Despite the lack of a collar around her neck, everyone just figured that she was his slave so they kept their hands to themselves. Not out of respect for her, but because it was the same as going into someone else's house and watching their TV without permission, it was just bad manners.

"We rich yet?" Bronn asked and Allen gave him a thin smile.

"Counting the new ship and the money on her, sort of. This, however," he said holding up the coin pouch, "will be going to my other m-followers." Allen said, catching himself. He was free to think as he liked but it would ruin the image he was cultivating if he went around calling people his minions.

He scanned the harbor for his ship and saw it was still where he left it, a man that he paid to give the hole a look over was taking measurements. After all, a ship with a hole was just a bad idea all around. Best part with some money now and save himself a long swim. The repairman said it would take some time to fix it but Allen paid him more to skip the others in line. Apparently, there was a long list of those that wanted out of the city but their ships weren't up to the trek.

"So...you seemed pretty against slavery just now," Bronn commented, looking everywhere but in Allen's direction. Allen rose an eyebrow, knowing exactly where this line of questioning was going.

"And yet I sold those men," he finished for him and Bronn nodded with some hesitance.

"I absolutely adore irony for one; slavers being sold as slaves...getting their just deserts," Allen shrugged. "that's one reason. Another is because they tried to sell me first. Another is, well, we needed the money. I want to set up a business and if we're going to become sell-swords, we need arms and armor. The cargo hold was empty, not counting us, so I don't mind being a hypocrite if we come out ahead because of it. ," Allen admitted casually, no point in denying it.

He was a criminal with a conscious, a villain with good intentions...he condemned those that worked in his business while he had done worse.

So, yes, Allen was a massive hypocrite.

"Ohh...well, at least yer honest about it," Bronn said, shrugging off his confusion. He was rapidly learning to just accept whatever weirdness was thrown his way when it concerned Allen. Life would be simpler that way.

"I make sure to be painfully aware of my strengths and faults. Self-awareness is one of my few redeeming qualities," he said as he scanned the crowd for one of his minions. He didn't see them, but once again he was struck by the beauty of this place.

The sea view, the white marble, the vibrant colors...and it didn't reek of shit! Myr was a vast, vast, vast, vast, epically vast improvement over Kings Landing.

Not only was the city itself was beautiful, the people in it were stunning. At least the pleasure slaves were, which was bit of a downer since someone not having the choice to say no didn't really feel like they were saying yes. They...they were the hot girl that everyone wanted to go out with or, in the rare case of a male pleasure slave, the jock with the smile that could be used to sell toothpaste. It made him feel a little self-conscious of his not completely ugly mug, but his pride was soothed by the looks he was receiving and the buyers offer to buy him as a pleasure slave.

There was just something so uplifting knowing that other people thought you were attractive.

"You won't sell the others ma-l-...Allen," Natasha asked hesitantly and Allen was shaking his head before she could even finish.

"No. As far as I know, they don't deserve it," Allen dismissed the possibility out of hand immediately. Some of them did seem the rough sort but more out of a poor desperation than enjoying violence kind of way.

"What about me, M-Allen," Natasha asked, struggling with herself for a moment before she shoved the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. She came to a stop and as she always did, shifted from one foot to the other, "I helped them. I helped them before you and I helped them against you...will you sell me?" She asked, voicing the ever preset fear.

"Nope," Allen said popping the P, "You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. I get it. They bought you, they owned you and they told you to do something. I can't say I would have done anything differently in your shoes so I don't have the right to condemn you...oh, and since I don't think I've done it formally yet; your free," He declared, giving her an affectionate pat on the head for good measure. Natasha could only stare blankly at him, her mind struggling to process what Allen had just done.

The entire trip to Myr she had been afraid that once again, she would find herself in the care of a new master. While Allen had his...eccentricities, he was by far the kindest master that she had. While living on the ship was hard, sometimes so hard that she would consider throwing herself into the ocean and letting the depths take her, Natasha knew that she didn't have the worst.

Alim was a cruel master but he was practical. He enjoyed her body for himself but he let the others use her on longer voyages to keep up moral. Natasha didn't like it but it was her duty as a slave. If anything, she was one of the luckier ones because she was expected to only serve in Alim's bed instead of constantly pleasing the crew.

However, whenever they docked in a city like Volantis...the stories she heard about the depravity of some of the Masters...it made Natasha appreciate that Allen was a kind master even more. Then, just as he dashed the fears of being sold to another cruel master, he grants her the freedom she's longer for ever since she was taken from her home.

"You need to stop doin that," Bronn pointed out as tears welled in Natasha's eyes. "Yer gonna break someone if you don't," he warned, shaking his head in exasperation while Natasha covered her mouth with her hand, tears leaking down her cheeks.

"It's fine! Isn't it fine, Natasha?" Allen dismissed Bronn's worries with a wave of his hand and the only answer he received was a hiccup mixed with a sob.

"Yes m-Allen," Natasha hiccuped, trying to stop the flow of tears but it her efforts were in vain. They dropped from her cheeks steadily as her throat was constricted with emotion. "It's fine," was all she could get out before a sob closed off whatever thanks she wanted to say.

"See? Now, come on. Once we get the rest of my min-followers on a boat, we can find a mercenary company and we can discuss you pay," Allen said, a soft smile on his face as he gently lead Natasha by the shoulder. A swell of pride entered his chest, knowing that he had done something good. He savored it because he knew that he wouldn't be feeling this very often.

Natasha hadn't stopped crying when they found Allen's minions speaking with a fat, richly dressed, merchant but her sobs were silent. They were arguing, likely over the price of their voyage back to Westeros, and Allen saw that it was Clyde that was doing the arguing. It seemed that he assumed the role of leader until he got back.

Clyde was in mid sentence when he saw Allen over the merchant's shoulder, "m'lord." he called out, dropping whatever he was going to say to greet him. Say what you want about his minions; they might not be smart, they might not be pretty, they might no bath regularly, but the sun and moon rose and set just to look at him as far as they were concerned.

"Clyde," Allen greeted back, a friendly smile on his face that remained in place when he turned his eyes to the merchant. "Greeting," he offered, glancing at his title. It only said merchant, meaning that he couldn't tell in what. Leveling up Observe just became a major priority considering that would be his only method of finding out.

'Observe,' Allen commanded the skill mentally.

Amir Kyhala

 **14**

 **Merchant**

Opinion **of you: ?**

 **Traits: ?**

 **Stats:**

 **Strength ?**

 **Endurance ?**

 **Dexterity ?**

 **Intelligence?**

 **Wisdom ?**

 **Charisma ?**

 **Luck ?**

Owner **of Sunset Exports. Father of two children.**

"Greetings, my lord," the merchant bowed lightly, a large smile on his face revealing rotting teeth but Allen noticed that his canines were there. "Are you the captain of these...men," he questioned, eying the number of females in the group. Since most of the men were killed in the fighting, the ratio was overwhelmingly in the women's favor.

"I am. I'm guessing they've told you that they seek a ship to take them back to Westeros?" Allen ventured, throwing on the polite speak rather thick. Amir nodded his head exaggeratedly.

"They have, my lord. However, we're having a disagreement on-" Amir began before Allen tossed the pouch of coins at him. The fat merchant struggled to catch it before quickly opening it, rather deftly considering how thick his fingers were.

"Yes, this will cover their voyage," he said, throwing the coin pouch into his shirt as Allen would suddenly reconsider. That meant that he had over paid...and he only gave him thirteen of the silvers. That was good to know.

"Excellent, though, I do have to warn you. The ship that we came over on was a slave ship, so-" Allen began, leaning in and putting on a deceptively kind tone as he placed a hand on the fat man's shoulder.

"Should I sell them as slaves, you'll hunt me down and kill me," Amir finished for him in a dry tone, brushing off Allen's hand. Clearly, this wasn't his first rodeo so the warning had little effect. That simply wouldn't do. If he was going to take over the world then his threats needed to be taken seriously and carried out when needed.

"Of course not! That's far too simple and easy! No, what I'll do will be much more enjoyable, Amir Kyhala," Amir stiffened at the sound of his name. "For me at least. You, on the other hand...I will destroy your life should you sell them, Amir. Your reputation, your business, your family; I'll take it all away. You see, I won't have to kill you. I'll torment you until you do that yourself," he informed before he patted him on the cheek.

 **Intimidation has leveled up!**

Amir's tanned skin looked ashen as he nodded his head so furiously that his second chin wobbled. He got out some words but Allen couldn't make them out, the man's voice was thick with fear and his accent made the words unrecognizable. However, they sounded like noises of agreement so Allen pulled back and gave Clyde a wink.

"Have a nice voyage home. Good luck," he said as he waved goodbye. The group of his minions all closed in on him, shouting their thanks and how they are forever in his debt. All of them wishing him well in the days to come, some announcing that their children would be named after 'Allen the Savior.' Allen just smiled back, thanking them for their kind words and by the time it came for them to part ways, his cheeks were hurting.

Allen watched them retreat down the docks, the closely knit group practically attached at the hip as they followed a visibly shaken Amir. Only when the last head disappeared around a corner did he let his smile fall.

"Glad that's over with," Allen muttered as he massaged the rest of the pain out of his cheeks.

"You don't like 'em?" Bronn asked, looking a bit confused as Allen turned to walk away in search of a tavern. A quick glance at his mini map and he was on his way. Really, the mini map was such an OP function and Allen loved it.

"I do," sort of, "I just have a lot I want to be done so I can't stand around all day. Speaking of which, do you know anything about the sell-sword companies here?" Allen asked, looking at his bodyguard as Natasha followed behind them. Worrying that she might get lost, he slowed a little until they were waling in a more unified line. He had to go even slower for both Bronn and Natasha to take the hint.

"Only the big ones like the Golden Company and ummm...the Windblowers, I think? The Golden Company won't take us; they're a veteran only recruitment and even then they only take the best of the best of the best. The Windblowers," Bronn shrugged before his attention was snatched by a particularly beautiful pleasure slave. The woman smiled at him and gave him a wink, giggling as she did so, before she passed, making Bronn go tomato red.

"Bronn," Allen said, snapping his fingers a few times to get his attention. It was a struggle because Bronn seemed all too willing to watch her swaying hips.

"Er, right. The Windblowers, uh, they might take us but they have a name fer themselves, been fighting here for, like, twenty years or something. So, there's going to be a lot of sell-swords that want to work for them." Bronn summarized before he looked back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the woman. You would think the world had just ended based on how utterly forlorn Bronn looked when he realized she was gone.

"Okay," Allen muttered, the cogs in his mind turning. Ideally, they would get into a mercenary company with a big name. There was a chance for it, but Allen wasn't putting much stock into it. Odds were they would have to settle for a smaller, more dispensable, company. Less ideal, but Allen's done more with less.

'If I could become its leader, that'd be for the best,' Allen thought to himself as his feet carried him to his destination. He would have to put up with taking orders from an idiot but Allen was sure he could sway whatever company over to him. He had done much the same in his past game.

When lines were being drawn in the sand, more than half of the criminals followed him out of loyalty. While Junior raged and screamed for any muck up they committed, and there were many, Allen scolded them and said he expected better next time. He listened to them, he knew their names and with the help of Observe, he knew their stories. So, when Allen accidentally started his civil war, there had been little hesitation on who they wanted to follow.

There would be that whole issue of usurping leadership from a man who made a living off killing others, but push comes to shove, Allen was perfectly willing to kill him in his sleep. Maybe poison or something...He had some in his inventory, or rather things that could be used for poisonings despite that not being their intended purpose. Allen decided to keep the option open until he met the leader of a mercenary company.

Allen looked up at the tavern he found himself standing before. Like everything in this city, it was in top notch quality. The paint was a royal blue while the visible support beams were a hearty brown. The windows had clean glass, the steps were free of vomit and other fluids...There was no comparison between Kings Landing and Myr.

If this whole taking over the world thing panned out then the first thing he was going to do was knock down that shit hole of a city and rebuild it in Myr's image.

Allen scanned the levels of those that hung outside of the tavern. As he expected, the average level nearly doubled compared to peasants. The lowest he was seeing was a level thirty who was doing his damnedest to drink another cup despite being sloshed. The highest was in the forties, on the very edge of what he was allowed to see.

If someone was fifty or more levels higher than him, then he would only see ?. It was a good indication to walk the opposite direction. Considering that he was only a level 2, he wouldn't be able to see anyone with a level 52 and up.

Allen walked up the step quickly before throwing open the door and he saw exactly what he was expecting to see. A room filled to the absolute brim of men, some wearing armor while others didn't, but all had weapons within arms reach and all had levels that dwarfed even Bronn's.

Like before everything had gone down the gutter in the cargo hold, there was a certain static energy in the tavern. All of the warriors were having a good time, drinking and pulling the waitresses into their laps, who would then laugh and swat their hands away before continuing their jobs, but there was an ever-present undertone that Allen recognized. Every time he was about to pull a big job or tweak the nose of a big name, a tension found itself within him.

Not a bad tension; the kind that kept you sharp and alert but it could also evolve into paranoia or worse, fear. Allen saw that it was in everyone in this room and that meant that a big job was about to be done.

However, there was one that stood out among the rest. A man in his mid-forties to early fifties with long gray hair that reached his shoulders. His mouth was set into a grim line as he sipped the wine, gazing over the rim of the cup with eyes Allen could only describe as sad. When he lowered the cup, his face seemed to be made of granite for all the emotion that is showed, and yet no one in the tavern was paying him any mind. He was a steady rock in a swirling ocean of jittery nerves and boisterous laughter.

 **Rags**

 **?**

 **Commander of the Windbown**

'Something good just happened to me...meaning something bad is about to happen,' Allen thought, thinking that it really said something about his luck that he planned for things to spiral out of control every time lady fortune looked his way.

Another look around the room and he saw that none of them seemed to be affiliated with the Windblown. In fact, Allen was seeing sell-swords for everyone but the Windblown.

'He's scoping out the competition,' Allen figured as he stepped inside. A fair few amount of eyes found their way towards him but most glanced away when they saw he didn't have a sword in his belt. Those that did seem to linger on his face, or rather his eyes and hair.

Knowing how important looks were, Allen ignored their gazes with practiced ease as he walked up to the tavern owner, ordering three wines. This time, he made extra sure to wait until the owner listed a price and Allen wanted to scream at how badly he over paid for that ale. Three glasses of not totally awful wine cost ten pence, meaning that a silver stag had been far, far, far too much. Considering how he hadn't even drunk it, or worse, the glass was cleaned with a spit rag...ugh, proper hygiene was the first to come to this backwater world.

After taking the wine cups, giving one to both Bronn and Natasha, both who drank it. Bronn smacked his lips in appreciation and Natasha almost scowled at her first taste of alcohol. They followed Allen across the room until they stood in front of the commander of one of the most well known mercenary companies in the Disputed Lands, though only Allen knew that in the entire tavern.

"Are these seats free?" Allen asked, gesturing to the chairs in case he didn't speak En-Common. Rags looked up at him for a long moment, his sad eyes trying to cut right through Allen but Allen had been on the receiving ends of such looks plenty of times so he gave nothing away. Slowly, almost as if he was hesitating, Rags nodded and gestured to the chairs with his free hand.

Allen slid into his along with Bronn. It took Natasha a long moment to realize that the last chair was for her before she sat down, nursing her wine. Bronn didn't wait long before he started looking around, waiting for someone to walk up to him and offer a job much like Allen had. When no one did, he turned to Allen with an expectant look.

"What we doin," Bronn asked, taking another large swig of his wine.

"Getting a read on the companies," Allen answered, his eyes scanning the room. Despite the numerous different companies names he was seeing, most of them seemed to get on with each other. They stuck together but they interacted with out much trouble so Allen was guessing that they were all employed by Myr.

Unknown to Bronn, Allen was merely trying to impress Rags. If he seemed confident and, more importantly, competent, then there would be a much greater chance that they would be accepted when Allen tried joining. Even if he wasn't accepted then he wanted to check out his options. From what he was seeing, he wasn't impressed.

They all seemed so loud and rowdy. Maybe he was just spoiled, but he preferred the quite and professionals. Sure, his guys might have been a little...very incompetent, but they were miles better than this lot.

"You wish to sell-sword," Rags asked, surprising Allen with his contribution to the conversation. He had a thick Valerian accent but Allen could swear that it was faked. Rags understood Bronn well enough to respond, which was surprising because Allen had fully expected him to just sit there quietly and observe him while he put on a show of how he was a competent, driven man so Rags would take an interest.

He hadn't even started his show yet but Rags was already making conversation. Why? Rags didn't exactly seem like a guy that cared about appearances, not that he could say for sure, and while he looked unique it shouldn't earn this. Was he just reading too much into it?

Allen nodded, "I do. Know any companies that are hiring," he asked, fishing for an offer. He wasn't surprised when he didn't get a bite.

"Yes. Most in city...wish to increase their numbers before battle. Better chance of earning name and gold if they survive," Rags said before he sipped his wine. Allen blinked but Bronn asked the question he wanted to ask.

"Battle? There's going to be a battle?" He asked, finishing his wine in a large gulp and tried to put it down with the same eloquence Rags and Allen did. He hid his embarrassment rather well when it almost tipped over, making him catch it before it fell.

"Yes. Big battle. Biggest in long lime. Windblown, Golden Company, Stormriders are coming to city," Rags explained and Allen felt a pit form in his stomach as he mind turned over that new information.

"They're going to sack the city?" He asked and Rags looked at him for a moment before nodding slowly. Allen clenched his fist underneath the table, Gamer Mind tempering the flash of anger he felt at the news. Really, he knew his luck was bad but this was just ridiculous.

"They will. Lys and Tyrosh demanded tribute too high from Myr when they were loosing. Myr said no and now Tyrosh and Lys will sack the city get cover cost and to eliminate Myr," Rags explained and Allen nodded slowly.

From what he gather on his map window, the disputed lands have been a war ground for the past three hundred years between the three free cities. Apparently, Myr was loosing this was and instead of pay tribute to get out of it, it decided to keep fighting in the hopes of winning.

That tipped the scale that the disputed lands have been balanced on for centuries. Myr was vulnerable and Tyrosh and Lys knew that. They also knew that they would never get a better chance to eliminate some of the competition. Allen didn't even want to think about how much money the free cities spend on mercenaries to fight over the disputed lands or their trade wars so it made perfect sense for the two cities to set aside their differences long enough to take out one of their rivals.

It would only be good for them. Less competition, less money spent on mercenaries, a great influx of wealth when they picked up the pieces...there were only benefits for the two free cities if they took out Myr.

"This is bad," Allen muttered as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Why," Bronn asked, seeming confused. "Let's just work for one of the other two. Once they sack the city, they'll turn on each other soon enough so we'll still have work," he pointed out and Allen had to admit that was a very good point. There was absolutely nothing tying them here. Once his ship was fixed, it would be very ease to sail to another free city and he would find work another way.

It also wasn't like becoming a sell-sword was his only option. There were others now that he understood the world he was in a little better. The only down side to them was that he wouldn't level up as quickly if he wasn't in battle.

"True...but this right here is an opportunity," Allen muttered, draining his wine in a single gulp ad dismissed the window letting him know he created the skill Abnormal Resistance. The cogs in his mind were turning at a furious rate, trying to work through the sludge that had clogged them when his Intelligence points had been stolen.

"What," Bronn asked, looking thoroughly baffled why Allen wasn't agreeing with him.

"You wish to fight with Myr," Rags asked, his eyebrows climbing high in surprise. No one could blame him. Both the Golden Company and the Windblown had an all but stainless reputation. The usual reaction to hearing that those two were working together was to run in the opposite direction.

"Depends. Do you know how many are on either side?" Allen asked Rags, ignoring Bronn's attempts to convince him to not do this. Natasha remained silent but her skin tone lost some of its color as she thought of such odds.

"Tyrosh and Lys are fielding around fifteen thousand. Myr is roughly half that," Rags glanced around the room and the rough men that filled it. "They try to get more by offering much gold to those that help defend," he added after a moment. Allen resisted the urge to narrow his eyes at the add on.

Rags, commander of the Windblown, which was about to sack the city, was giving him reasons to defend Myr. What was going on here?

"See," Bronn pointed out, "they're out numbered two ta one! They'll loose," he added as if he needed to. Allen agreed with him silently, things did sound rather dire for his new favorite city.

However, that was music to his ears.

"We have the walls and home field advantage," Allen said, thinking aloud as he formulated a plan to swing this to his advantage. "If they siege the city then they're going to have to blockade the ports," Allen glanced at Rags, a silent question in his eyes. The older man didn't react other than to blink slowly before regarding Allen an increased level of respect.

"No ships. Assault walls,"Rags admitted and Allen repressed a wicked grin. There was always the possibility that he was lying but Allen didn't see the point of doing so. He wasn't a high ranking mercenary nor was he influential, so telling him that they planned to assist the walls did little harm in the long run because the leaders of the city were no doubt already preparing for that. Perhaps his plan was for Allen to circulate that knowledge among the mercenaries to remind them that there was a way to flee when the going got tough but, if that was the case, Rags would be sorely disappointed.

"Excellent," Allen said, trying to recall all of his experience playing Total War games and all of the movies that had sieges in them. Allen had a goal in mind, it was just a matter of thinking of a way to conform reality to it.

"What's good about that," Bronn questioned in a resigned tone as he leaned back in his chair. He meant it when he said that he'd part with his life before these shoes.

"A few reasons. The first and for most is that we can run away if things don't pan out," he admitted with a chuckle, earning a sharp look from those at the table while Bronn looked liked he wanted to demand why they weren't doing that in the first place.

"Hopefully, it won't come to that," it totally will, "With any luck we can use this to make a name for ourselves. If we have the spotlight and everyone knows that the assist was driven off because of us, what do you think will happen," Allen asked, a predatory grin tugging at his lips. His goal was simple but very difficult to pull off considering it was just currently the three of them and the fact that plan was the same as every single one of the defending mercenaries.

However, he had something that no one else dos and he had it in spades.

Bad luck.

Just about every single job that he had ever been on blew up in his face often enough that he could make a plan around when everything went to shit. He could give orders easily and the job was done without a hitch, assuming that the goons he sent weren't utter morons, but without fail, the moment he tried to take an active role to better his position, it was utter chaos.

But, as one wise man once said, chaos is a ladder and Allen was going to climb that ladder to the very top.

"Uhh, gold?" Bronn ventured, glancing at the other two for support. Rags just watched their conversation, a glint in his eye that told Allen that he found all of this very amusing, or interesting. Either fit. Natasha, having long since finished her wine, spoke up for the first time.

"Titles, m'lord," Natasha said, assuming that she was only allowed to call him by his name in private. Allen didn't correct her now but he made a mental note to do so later.

"Exactly right, both of you, but the answer I was looking for was something outside the box," he explained and Natasha looked ashamed while Bronn just rose an eyebrow, waiting for Allen to get on with it. Rags, on the other hand, was paying much more attention to the conversation now.

"Reputation," Allen said, holding up a finger. "We'll have a reputation and a good one, to boot. People will be lining up to join our company and it'll get our foot in the door when we set up shop for loans and all that stuff," Allen explained, cutting down his speech too much more acceptable levels.

It could never be overstated how important it was to have a good reputation. Back when he first got started in the underworld of Vale, he had managed to stumble into gaining a fierce reputation of being an unstoppable badass who was the best friend or enemy you'll ever have when he had been an idiot flying by the seat of his pants in so far over his head. Because of that reputation, he managed to avoid fights that he would have suffered a humiliating defeat. There were more than a few cases when the rival gangs just threw themselves at his feet, screaming for mercy.

Saving Myr from destruction was one good way to earn back his reputation...plus, who doesn't want to be a hero?


	5. The new story is up

For those that care, the new ASOIAF story is up. It's a Fallout 3/ASOIAF crossover so go there or just click on my profile if you want to read it since FF hates links.


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